Asylum Earth
by SkeltonDray
Summary: A Theocracy has taken control of England. A mysterious, brutal despot known as The Messenger sits at the head of the Holy Order. A schoolboy , Jah Frum, is chosen, for reasons beyond his understanding, as savor of the people. Before he takes up his role as the second coming, he must first help his sister flee underground, succeed in the dreaded Auto-de-fe and save his parents.
1. Chapter 1

****Chapter 1****

"The house of the Lord which King Solomon built in New Jerusalem. Let he without sin cast the first stone."

An earsplitting invitation to a stoning this early in the morning. Ye gods. I stopped and waited as the Blood Monk's words dispelled throughout the square before relaxing. Not that he'd care he had completely ruined my sleepy walk but I'd even left early this morning for senior ecclesiastical school, and taken a short cut, so I could dawdle. Half-asleep, half-aware, half-arsed.

Now that my peace had been shot to shards, I settled on studying the Monk instead. Must be serious. He had all the official clobber on. A blood red habit and a large silver cross encrusted with green gem stones hung around his neck and on his waist a black rope belt circled a well-stuffed belly and lodged in the belt, an electroprod. In New Jerusalem a stroll often turns into a death sentence for some cursed soul.

True, I could have moved on before the crowds blocked the streets, but shamefully, it drew me in, captured my attention, and soon my irritation at being stopped subsided. Sweet smokey incense poured from the Blood Monk's swinging thurible locking me to the spot. The smell reminded me of my mother when she lighted joss sticks at night in my room to calm me before sleep. Days that had long gone, now.

And now I sensed the atmosphere in the square and on the near-by city streets change. I felt a shift from the ordinary business of day to the primal frenzy of the pack animal. It had the same fevered intoxication of when a fight breaks out at school and the pupils gather in about three seconds of the news being passed to their ear via the shielded mouths of fellow teens. It had that kind of feel.

As with every stoning, my gut tightened, pulsed, while the assembling crowd gossiped and whispered falsehoods and guessed at the sins of the accused man before them. Ordinarily few people saw the early morning but now the spectacle of retribution brought them on to the streets. The mumbles from the gathering spectators grew louder and more confident.

Suddenly, I felt a push in the back, a sigh and then the low autumnal sun appeared from behind a cloud, caught me in the face and turned my world a bright yellow. I rubbed my eyes and blinked. A growing line of wannabe stokers desperate to be chosen for casting the first stones shuffled from foot to foot, waved their arms in hope of being noticed by the Blood Monk, stabbed pointed fingers towards the sinner, and threw abuse.

"Pagan scum," they shouted. "Hell bound heretic."

The crowd in the square now spilled onto the road, a real gathering of the ghoulish. And how they bayed for vengeance. Was it to absolve their own wretched sins?

"In the year 1005 After The First Holy Messenger, the charged sinner you see before you has offended the Lord and his conduit on earth, the Most High Messenger Incarnate. Praise high his name."

I rubbed my eyes again and looked at the wretched creature cowering beneath the iron railings, pressed against the Temple's perimeter wall. Stripped of his clothes, fresh crimson lash marks streaked his back and reminded me of the twigs I arranged haphazardly on the ground when I built a fire in the woods. The still wet blood glistened and slowly trickled down his round back.

Arranged in a semi-circle around the sinner, the chosen stokers, sinless in their own heads, now jostled for front row positions and in their hands boulders of varying shapes and sizes were itching for flight.

"This man is beyond redemption. A pagan pig not fit for God's own country of New Jerusalem. Evil multiplies like a cancer. If prayer and faith fail to stop that cancer then it must be removed. We do this in the name of the Lord and every god fearing parishioner."

The Blood Monk lowered his head and prayed. The cowering accused, already balled and steeled, looked out, pressed harder against the wall and shivered. His wide, fiery eyes popped with fear. His poor situation reminded me of a biblical quote, one of those few quotes my school mates, mostly us boys, would cackle at, "Therefore, behold, I will bring evil uponthehouse of Jeroboam, and will cut off from Jeroboam him that pissethagainstthewall." After a few moments the Monk roared again.

"May the Lord have mercy on this hell bound heretic's soul." He took a deep calming breath. "Begin. God wills it."

"Keep it down a bit," I whispered to myself, "We're not all as deaf as old Local Pastor Godion."

The woman beside me shook her head. "Do you want to be next?" she said.

Recoiling further, the half naked sinner turned his face to the wall, and curling tighter into a smaller ball he hardened his muscles against the inevitable. I watched mesmerized as he swayed in a multitude of directions like he was dancing to his own strange hypnotic music.

The Blood Monk joined the mob and taking a stone from a basket on the ground he hurled the first missile. The stone landed on the man's hunched back. A thud jolted me. The man yelped like a puppy. I grimaced

and closed my eyes, then I peeked between my fingers just as a shower of stones arced through the air.

Some missed but such was the mob's experience most were a direct hit. One particularly large boulder struck the man on the side of his face forcing his head against the wall. I heard a crack and flinched, almost feeling the man's pain myself. He slumped lower. Fresh ammunition rained down. The lash marks disappeared beneath new bloody wounds, and without respite, more stones poured down and pounded his body. The faces of the stokers were set in wild satisfaction. Now his skull had cracked. I saw the dirty white of his brain. My stomach contracted but nothing came up and only then was I able to thank the Holy Messenger for lousy rations.

"Ave, suet asinus?"

My body stiffened because I knew immediately who it was without turning round. I recognized instantly that deep baritone voice of a teenage boy who'd reached puberty far too soon. An absolute giveaway and I should have known Cosmin Bale would be skulking around at a gory public spectacle

like this.

"Well, I was fine." I didn't feel nervous today in a crowded space. Even if it hadn't been, he'd never had real power over me. If anything I felt superior to him. Something approaching pity. I said, "You never really get used to this, do you? What did I hear once from old Gad, 'they strive to be angels but end up

beasts.' Was that it?" I swept my around over the square. "Look at their faces. I've seen hundreds. I assume you take great pleasure in it all."

Some looked on Cosmin as a bully, but I saw him more as an annoyance, like a strong and healthy fly stuck in your bedroom. Just when you think it's flown from the room you feel light, ticklish legs on your skin and the untraceable, annoying buzz. He burned a kids sandal shoes last week. With the kids feet still in them. I don't know how he gets away with it. Must be a snitch. Disorder out of order, thatwas his shtick.

"Feisty today for a nondescript." He pushed me in the back. There it was. The threat of violence.

Never far away when an oversized moro such as Cosmin had to stamp his superior strength on the situation and signal his will to use it. He was strong, I had to give him that, so much so I stumbled forward. Not to be discouraged, I corrected my stance and stood straight and tall, refusing to turn and face him. That would anger him. That would make him feel insignificant, the most dreaded emotion.

"And this is meant to be an advanced society," I said. "Look out our technology for Baalim's sake. You can't move without a flying Judas spying on you. I'm sure there's more than there used to be. From these displays you'd think we were backward Djinns."

"Do not offend the Lord," he snapped. "Our Lay Deaconess would be very interested to hear you speak like that. Using a false God like Baalim. An instant black mark for you."

"What was his sin?" I said, nodding towards the dead heretic, and bringing the topic back round. Cosmin's favorite, the sin's of others. "An Immaculate, I suppose?"

"Yea, laying with another man they say. My mum knows him. She says it's not true. But if it is, God mend him. They're all filthy scum those Immaculates. You know they take all the homes on the east side and we can't get one. We need to stay in Celestial Towers with you lot from South Jericho. Full of non-descripts. If they didn't offend doctrine then this wouldn't happen. They sow their own seeds. We need to get rid of a few."

Sounded like his dad speaking. The crowds began to disperse.

"I'm was born in SoJo."

"Exactly," he said, smiling at his own brilliance.

He wouldn't have guessed I set him up for it. How vanity blinds. He must have had enough of talking to the back of my head, because next he put his hand on my shoulder and forced me round. I put up no fight and when I turned, what a fright I got. His face. More specifically, his upper lip. Something dark and sinister lay there. Not quite a mustache, more like a thin dark eyebrow. I almost laughed before choking it back. He must have sensed that.

"I know you're a goody-goody, Jah, a bonum. The white mark kid. I've even heard some of the mothers call your a cherub. Fat enough for it, anyway. But I'll find something on you. We all have black marks, eh? Even the most righteous."

"Not I," I said dramatically."I have the same burden of sin as that trigger happy mob of stokers."

He wouldn't have got the nuance, the subtlety, the irony and I didn't have the inclination, nor the time, to explain it.

"Are you disrespecting the good and righteous hearts of our brothers and sisters of New Jerusalem?" He smelled a rat. " I hope not. Now clear off."

He kicked ground dust at my jumpsuit. "You bore me. Redemption thro' suffering. Tandem, discite, servus. The school motto. Remember, dumbus."

"Not suffering dished out by you." I tilted my head at the Temple wall. "He didn't have much time to redeem himself."

"His sin was too great and too late. The Lord will judge him now."

I brushed away the dust from my trousers. "Watch the uniform," I said. "Well, it's been nice chatting."

"Not for me," he said. He started to walk away but then stopped and swiveled his head to the side. "I'm always watching. Not just me, the Parish Witness, remember. The Auto-de-fe. Good luck with that."

Cosmin had had his Auto-de-fe only last week. He had returned exactly the same person as he had left which was not surprising really. He'd do anything for his clerical masters. I'd seen him casting stones before when he wasn't authorized, so I assumed he passed the Auto with flying colors.

Usually I could stomach a stoning. I'd seen plenty. Sometimes the Senior Ecclesiastical School in the parish took us on a trip to the stoning stations to witness a particularly wicked or infamous, or high ranking heretic pay the ultimate price for deviation. Then there were impromptu stonings like today, where more than likely the sinner was pulled from his bed, charged if three or more witnesses damned him, and then without further ado thrown against the wall and stoned.

But recently I had other worries on my mind, and the stoning had deeply effected me, and Cosmin had planted a seed and he well knew it. Not so much a seed but a grain of sand in my head, a tiny grain collecting other grains which over time grew to the size of a boulder mercilessly splitting my head open, and dragging me lower and lower, just like the poor stoned man whose awful suffering had only managed to amplify my own.

If I were late for ecclesiastical school that was one thing, a category E sin at worst, a minor black mark, but this would be nothing compared to the consequences of failing the Auto-de-fe that hung over me like a death sentence, perhaps literally.

My friend Dorin had told me things, things that his all-seeing, mysterious Uncle had told him. His Uncle said the psychological analysts of the Holy Order had discovered where in the brain a fear or threat memory is stored, so this made it possible for the Witnesses to erase the network of neurons that make up the memory. So this meant no-one could remembered what happened at the Autos. And this secrecy when the Parish Witness came knocking was the scariest thing of all for it meant you couldn't prepare like you could an elementary miracles or a holy scripture test at school.

On top of this, there were the few children that never returned. They were few but enough in number to worry about. Most of the missing were from SoJo so no-one really cared that much.

'Safe under the guise of the Lord', they cryptically, and unhelpfully, told us. 'Love the Lord and all will be well.'

I liked to think the non-returners went north or east to the heathen lands as warrior missionaries armed with guns and bibles, enlisted to convert the Djinns, by bomb or by book, to a just life. And in my mind this was the least worst option. But I had to confess I feared they never returned because they were no longer with us and when I thought about it, it felt like a virus had invaded my body. At once hot and sweaty, then cold and shivery. I tried to divert my thoughts.

Thankfully, I heard the electric crackle of a hovering eyeball, a spying, flying Judas, fizzing above the heads of the dispersing mob and alerting me to the time. I wondered if it had been scanning me. I didn't delay, so I hauled my rear onward before the death truck arrived to take the sinner for incineration.

Walking as fast as I could without actually running, I started to think of what Cosmin had said about the Immaculates and it made me feel that maybe it was a good thing the many accused were taken from that group, who without family ties, or friends in most cases, and who appeared, seemingly, out of thin air and dropped suddenly into society because, essentially, no-one was left to miss them.

"They don't integrate." I could hear the hushed words come from the doorways of my neighbors. "Secretive. What are they up to? What are they hiding? What do they want? Our homes, our food."

They were hated for no particular reason I could see and blamed for every bad thing that befell us, from the weather to a heathen bomb, to the death of a Bishop. I always thought it to be a distraction from the real problems we suffered.

Still, having no history somehow made it fairer than if the victim had grown up in New Jerusalem. I ran the rest of the way to school being stopped only once by a succession of crazy Flagellants with leather straps and birch branches seeking atonement. I knew way easier methods of showing devotion. They should shuffle in my direction for some holy counsel. Hush hush of course. When they passed I started to run again.

* * *

The Third School of the Blessed St. Gemma was the finest Senior Ecclesiastical School in the entire parish of New South Jericho. This was what we had been told often enough and this is what we had to believe. We had been told of its illustrious history, of its celebrated past alumni, of its high exam results and scholarly achievements, and castigated in equal measures because of our distinct lack of gratitude for attending such a fine establishment. Our attitude was plain, so said the lay clergy of the school, for all to see, from the lowliest Lay Councilor to the highest ranking Archbishop at The Council of Elders. If our gratitude was measured in blood it wouldn't have been enough.

I arrived at the gates to this wondrous establishment sucking at the air like a landed fish, all sweaty and in need of a good lie down. Being out of shape it was constant miracle to me how I made it on time any morning. Also, I had to wait for my sister Cami to leave in the mornings, my mum liked it that way, 'safer,' she'd say, and Cami was invariably late to leave. We always ditched each other as soon as we were round the corner of Celestial Towers, and out of view of the window my mother watched from, and then I'd sleepily saunter the rest of the way until I realized the time. Then the inevitable sprint. I must have liked it like that. But Cami had been going to the Temple recently, in preparation for her hallowing, so I left the block when I wanted. Still rushed, though, and I couldn't even blame Cami anymore.

Through tears of exhaustion I made out the figure of St. Gem's Moral's Proctor waiting stiffly at the gate counting the children as they passed on their way into the school courtyard. Most days the School Warden, essentially a Proctor's spy, ushered us in without fuss, though, on occasions, to keep us on our toes, the Moral's Proctor took charge. He was a small man, stern and the few words he spoke were drab and monotone. He'd be a good sleep aid, right enough. He was friendly in a remote way, even so, 'don't be fooled,' Cami had told me, 'he wouldn't think twice before putting you under the lash'. He knew my father so he talked to me. Old David's Mighty Warriors buddies.

"You have made it on time, Jah. Ave. And at a cost," he said referring, I think, to my extreme panting and on fire face. "Lucky for you. Don't want to tarnish that unblemished record, do we?"

"No, Sir," I said. "Not if I want to make the military Priesthood." Which I didn't. Not in a million years, which made me wonder if my answer was a lie or merely a statement of fact? Surely a just God would understand when he takes the time to sift through the files in my mind. "I was distracted by a morning stoning and a troop of flagellants on their knees, Minister Carlberg. They move as slow as snails."

His face was unreadable. Implacable. Never certain if the man had the ability for emotion for he never showed it in his body language, only ever moving when he needed to get somewhere, or indeed, in his language language either.

"Fifteen next week. Time for your Auto-de-fe," he said, as if I didn't know. "A boy of such good faith like yourself need not worry. Then I can be your Candidacy Mentor. But if not, don't fret. We are just to those who fail. "

I didn't believe him and failure for me was worse than the fires of hell. If he knew the truth he wouldn't be saying I was a boy of good faith. It's true I sinned little, the most minor of sins at worst, and it was true I had no particularly evil thoughts of which I had to confess and my dreams were fairly boring, that's if I could remember them, and not especially of the flesh. And on the occasions a schoolmate, ora young ordained sister, did creep into my dreams I could put this down to temptations from the Devil.

But there was something bigger than all this put together; one all-consuming issue that transcended any minor sin. Did I even believe in God's existence? A question that was not permitted, to put it lightly, in a society that blurs any distinction between reality, faith, ever-lasting life and creation. And if they found this out at the Auto-de-fe then it could be goodnight, sweet angel, from me.

"How's your father?" he said.

"Fine, I think. Still suffering a bit from the old injury. Talks a lot about it."

"Brave man your father, a true Brother. Together we guarded His Holy Messenger at the First Temple and the Sanctified Palace. Guardsmen in David's Mighty Warriors. Not mere Numen's Army Corps soldiers I'll have you know."

Did he really think I didn't know or was he so self-obsessed he just didn't care.

"So I've heard," I said. "My father _has_ mentioned it a few times before."

Like a hundred million times.

"Saved an assassination attempt on His Holiness. In his personal quarters at the Temple, no less. Why they try to kill an immortal figure protected by god is beyond me. Only the Lord can take a Messenger in the rapture, as you well know, Jah. Nonetheless, your father dealt with such evil efficiently and was honored for it. Received a seal of Solomon medal, I believe."

I nodded like it was news. Thank goodness the horn sounded.

"Off you go," he said, "and give a blessing to your father from me. May God guard you."

"Fine engineer, too," I heard him mutter as I pushed my way into the schoolyard.

The schoolyard teemed with chattering children, most younger than me though a few seniors marched around like they owned the place. I was in my penultimate year, a brown jumpsuit pointed this out, and I found myself in the strange position of being inferior and superior to my schoolmates at the same time and I didn't find it comfortable.

The schoolyard was one of the few chances we got to talk freely, so long as flying Judas hadn't dropped in for an eavesdrop, and it was the place we let down our guard. Once inside the school proper, talk was restricted to cliche and hidden meaning, covered mouths and whispers, although that was getting harder. Kids were being pulled in and lashed for covering. The school was littered with sitting Judases. Eyes and ears everywhere.

The irony of our unheard schoolyard chat was not lost on me even if it was on my fellow brothers and sisters. It had always struck me as odd that we gossiped and spilled the dirt while gathered around a giant statue of the Holy Messenger Incarnate himself. The leader of the Holy Order, no less, and the man our private thoughts were most hidden from. If only that statue had had microphone ears.

In the center of the schoolyard and in front of the main entrance, our holy Leader and Guardian rose tall on the smoothest of white marble plinths and stood proud like a God. He had been sculpted with a puffed out chest, whittled with a narrow waist and his hands had been fashioned in prayer, palm to palm, and his eyes had been left closed in reverence and directed heavenwards. He wore a kethoneth and a simlah draped his shoulders.

I'd seen him at home on the spectrospiel before many times and he wasn't as thin or as tall as this statue suggested. He stood upright now but, in reality, he was lame since childhood. On the show Miracles Tonight that they broadcast on the spectrospiel every Sunday evening after service, the Messenger channeled the Lord's power and healed those with disease and disabilities. On the day of Judgment, he shall heal himself, or so it goes, and New Jerusalem shall take its rightful place as God's own country, or so it goes.

A memory came unlocked in my head. It was late last night and I was lying awake in bed. Why did God, I had thought, or Jesus for that matter when he roamed the earth, not cure lameness completely if they had the power. Why leave some lame at all? Surely that would make more sense from an all powerful, just Creator. But saddest times, this would remain my own personal dilemma for to ask my lay deaconess such an anti-doctrine question would bring penance at best, and at worst, a report to the Moral's Proctor and then maybe an appearance in front of the Council of Elders. And that was bad.

"Salve, obesus amicus?"

Twice in one morning, that had to be a record. This insult was not from Cosmin Bale, however, this came from my friend Dorin Levine except his remark was weightier with irony and jokier in tone. I smiled as he approached. His much admired sister, Anat, to put it nicely, stood at the Messenger's stony feet talking with friends. The horn sounded again. We had to go inside now.

"Not too bad," I fibbed. Only a white one.

"Liar," he said. "There's always something wrong with you. You worry for New Jerusalem."

We pushed through a throng of pupils and under the black marble cross above the school entrance. Next to the gold and black double pennant of the Messenger we stopped. The voices of my fellow brothers and sisters would drown us out here as they continued to cram through the doors. Irrespective of the bustle, the sitting Judas next to the double pennant might still pick us up. Couldn't risk it.

"I need to talk to you after school," I whispered, placing a hand above my mouth to evade eavesdroppers. I feigned a cough. "I found something really strange I need to show you. Out of this world, even."

"I'm intrigued," Dorin lipped back with his head angled. " But don't act weird today. No changed behavior remember. At the hanging tree?"

"Where else?" I said.

"Cough some more, you're covering."

We walked inside, crossing ourselves as we passed over the threshold with me coughing like I had some plague.

* * *

At St. Gemma's Ecclesiastical School lay-deacons and lay-deaconesses taught the day to day classes while the Elder Sisters, who were all hallowed to the church, oversaw the smooth running of the school and gave lessons on morals, christian eschatology and parable interpretation. They were more than happy to administer violent penance. The Elder Brothers oversaw practical skills in woodcraft, survival and self-defense and tended to be slightly more forgiving, yet only slightly. The Guardian of Morals, or Morals Proctor Minister Carlberg, was headmaster and the man who would decide on fitting retribution for a pupil who digressed from taught behavior. He had the power to refer someone to a Parish Witness.

For scripture all ages of pupil mixed in the same class, The lay-deaconess teacher that taught my class was called Novice Magdalene because of her special blessing. And boy was she special, and not in the way the church meant. A description of cruel would be unfair because of her robotic demeanor. Unfair to robots that is. She was even more mechanical than the automated clerics on each street corner. I was fairly certain she was made of flesh and blood but apart from this, normal descriptions of human character did not apply. Who gives a robot a set of characteristics?

Not only this, but adding to her mechanized demeanor, her hair never moved, it sat rigid on her head like a plastic helmet. Every day her face was the same powder white and she never reddened even in anger, which was, by far, her single most favorite emotion and one she utilized often.

Today she stood at the front of a silent class staring blankly above our heads at the back wall. My worst nightmare was about to be realized. A lesson in Holy Scripture. And in Latin. Sheesh. We stood and sang New Jerusalem Vivit before the Novice began.

"Anat," she said loudly. We all sat up. "For the greater glory of god."

"Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriem," she replied without hesitation.

"And act of faith?"

Anat shuffled proudly in her seat, she had this one in the bag. "Actus Fidei, Novice, or more commonly known as the Auto-de-fe."

There it was, that phrase again. How I hated its sound, how I hated the way it forced itself into every part of my life. It was nothing less than a thug and a bully. Way more harrowing than anything Cosmin Bale could dream up.

"Cosmin. For you. Come faithful?"

Cosmin looked up with a stupid surprised expression on his face as if something that had happened a million times before was the last thing he ever expected to happen again. What was his problem? He couldn't ask for an easier translation.

"Adeste." He stopped to think. "Infidelis."

A few of us snickered. He grimaced menacingly and we fell silent, quite aware of the after school consequences. But in this arena the Novice held the real fear.

"No more laughing," said Novice Magdalene staring over the class from her flat, white face and then she said with that false empathy of hers, "Now Cosmin, that would be the opposite would it not?"

She moved from her platform and between the desks. It seemed like she floated rather than walked. When she arrived at Cosmin's desk she withdrew from the folds in her gown, in a flash and in one smooth movement, the dreaded electroprod. Cosmin recoiled when he saw it. She was skilled and quick and allowing Cosmin no time to brace himself, the Novice quickly stabbed it between his ribs. A voltage shot into Cosmin's body. He launched from his seat and landed back down on his backside with a thump. His hand grasped at his side and his clenched teeth stifled a shriek. Clearly turned to a high setting by the strength of Cosmin's jolt. I have to say I took no pleasure in his pain.

"Again," she said

"Fidelis," he muttered without much conviction. "Novice Magdalene? It's Fidelis."

"It's always strange to me how a little pain prompts the memory. Shakes the sinews, fires the synapses. Wakes the idle." She spun on her heels to face Cami. "Agnus die, qui tollis pecatta mundi, miserer mundi."

Cami shot me a glance with large lively eyes and one side of her mouth was upturned in a mischievous smirk. What was she going to do? No sis, I thought, whatever you're thinking, forget it. My stomach knotted and I wanted to shout out and distract the Novice.

"No-one speaks Latin, Novice," said Cami. " Why bother with it? Does God speak Latin or something? Why can't we use our own language. I'm sure God would understand. He created the tower of babel after all."

"God would not understand your disrespect for doctrine, neither would the Moral's Proctor. And the tower of Babel confused, did it not? We wish to communicate one message to all. This is not like you Cami Frum. Not at all."

I saw her hand holding the electroprod twitch in readiness. I didn't think twice. I smacked Dorin on the back of the head. He swung round, " what the Jehannama."

All eyes fell on me. It was like a weight squashing me into a ball.

"Jah Frum," said the Novice. "What's going on?" Nerves stopped my brain from working, then I remembered little John who lived underneath our apartment. He told me a story about the Retribution Kids pulling a toe nail from his dad for a debt he had.

"I lent Dorin money a while ago and he hasn't paid it back yet so I want it back with interest and he says this is against holy teachings."

"Dorin is correct and I'm surprised you don't know that. Your marks are always exceptional on church doctrine."

Thank god for little John. Novice Magdalene put the electroprod back into her gown, this case was beyond an electrical nudge.

"Apologize immediately, and go put on the hoodwink and stand in front of the class until we agree on a suitable penance."

"Sorry, Dorin," I said.

Dorin shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he couldn't care less.

The Novice walked me to the front of the class. I took the black leather hoodwink from her desk and slipped it over my head. My nose poked through a front slit in the leather. The Novice tied my wrists together behind my back and then put a palm on the top my head. She pushed me down and, surprisedat her strength, I flopped to my knees.

"Now," she said. "Where were we. Oh yes, scripture. Dorin, dominus tecum."

* * *

After a blundered yet painful thrashing from the Moral Proctor's lash and a black mark scored on my file, it was lunchtime. The refectory was already as busy as a biblical market when I walked in. Immediately, the sour, creamy smell of olio hit my nostrils. I puffed it away and looked for Dorin. I saw him sandwiched in on both sides by what I can only describe as an army of boys oozing repressed energy. I squeezed between two of these boys junior to me, the yellow jumpsuits gave it away, so I could position myself across from Dorin. They tutted violently at the inconvenience.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry" I kept on repeating until I was in place, and then I finished with a final sarcastic, "sorry."

"Don't mention it," said Dorin. "About this morning. I get it."

"Sorry to bring you into it. No option and all that."

"What did they give you?"

"Ten."

"Could have been worse," said Dorin. "You might have had to actually be examined by the school analyst and god knows you could have died of boredom."

Dorin had a good knack of lightening a situation and usually he had a valid point. I liked that about him. For one, I could share concerns that had grown to enormous proportions in my mind, knowing he could shrink them back down to size with a withering look or a teasing laugh or an offhand dismissal with something as simple as, 'don't be an stultus asinus all your life.' and other such phrases of

encouragement.

"But at least I could sit down after analysis," I said. "My backside is burning here."

Dorin let out a stifled chuckle. "Thanks," I said. "And keep your voice down."

A large earthenware pot of olio sat in the middle of the long rectangular table. I filled my bowl with the serving spoon, having waited for the younger kids to get theirs, and when I opened my napkin to cover my jumpsuit a folded piece of paper fell out. I slipped it under the table and unfolded it. Eating with one hand and holding the note with the other I read,

 _Cheers for this morning, bro. I need to see you after school at the Hanging tree. I'm running. Don't go straight home or to Seraphim Troupe. C, X_

My older sister running. Jehoshaphat! Why would she want to run? No-one ever runs. They know it to be pointless. Running was a final option after all other options had been exhausted. Mainly for the reason all runners were caught and dealt with. This had to be one serious problem because Cami didn't break easy and she hadn't even bothered coding the note.

I had to think this over as everyone in the hall ate in silence. Then I heard a snicker and watched as Zed was hoodwinked and lead from the hall by a lay-deacon because he couldn't control his words.

Was it Cami's upcoming hallowing? No, she had said without coaxing that she was looking forward to this, and had already been at the Temple for a few days of preparation. Things were normal enough at home, nothing of note had changed there, so that couldn't be it either. Was she being bullied? Was she bullying?

How did I miss the signs of her troubled mind. Had I not previously been a finely tuned detector of Cami's moods, had I not developed an animal like sensor of altered behavior. Not any more, clearly. It had to be this cursed Auto-de-fe turning me into a self-obsessed, introspective moro. Now I was tense and nervous and I didn't like it one bit. I put the note back between the napkin and into my pocket. I

ditched the spoon into the bowl.

"Not eating, rotundus," said Cosmin who had materialized at the end of the table.

"I've finished," I whispered. "And anyway, not now, eh."

Why was it I never heard or saw this moro approaching. Did he appear in a magical puff of smoke or something.

"Your Mother do the fattening at home?" he said.

He had a few more moros with him this time who liked to falsely cackle at anything he said. I ignored him and shook my head wearily at Dorin.

"Move along Cosmin," said Dorin. "Must be some girls or small boys asking to be intimidated. Or what about The Retribution Kids. They must be missing their grand leader."

"Shut it, Dorin" he snapped. "Your lip will get you into trouble one day. Mark my words."

"Well at least he's got some lip," I said, far too bravely for my own liking. Stick with it, Jah, I told myself. Confidence. "He doesn't have his face constantly at the Brother Godion's back side like you."

My eyes stayed fixed on the empty bowl of olio next to me. I tensed up in case a punch came flying across the table. When a few moments had elapsed I shot a sly look at Cosmin to gauge his mood and level of rage.

He had turned to his two moros who flanked him in a pitiably choreographed way and was mouthing something. They felt obliged to grunt a truly unconvincing kind of ridiculous half laugh as if to say my bravery could not be backed up with action and they might have had a point. Cosmin came around the table and my body coiled further. He leaned down and whispered in my ear.

"You watch it too rotundus." His breath stank of old cabbage and he'd clearly found a new favorite word. "How's your sis. Saw her at assembly. Looking pretty good. If she ever needs a real man give me a shout. That's if she hasn't already got one already, eh. Not hallowed yet either. And a nondescript with an ethnopure. Tut tut."

He gave this creepy wink as if he were suffering a facial seizure, the kind I suffered from in times of stress. Even though I was slipping into the falsehood of a shared affliction, the patronizing pat on the shoulder was the final straw. A rage erupted inside me. A spontaneous combustion. I stood up quickly with what I thought was menace but I forgot how squashed in I was. My arms were trapped so I had to wriggle to my feet like a stuck worm. I'm sure it didn't look as courageous or as scary as I intended and halfway to my feet and with my anger now subsiding, Cosmin mocked me, "Calm down, rotundus. I'm shaking in my boots here. Say Salve to your dad for me. Still a snitch is he? Losing people their jobs."

"Your dad was the one snitching on innocent soldiers, not mine."

A voice came over the speaker, and tiredly announced, "Cosmin Bale. Attend the Proctor's office immediately."

He walked off giggling with his friends and looking back over his shoulder. He pursed his lips and sent me sarcastic kisses. This guy was pushing it. Not my sis. No. And what did he mean about a boyfriend. Another grain had be planted and he knew it. I was seething.


	2. Chapter 2

****Chapter 2****

I sat on a bench in the empty common room, a good place to think away from class. Few pupils ever came in here as they didn't want to be associated with the type that did come in here. Some loose talk went on in the common room and they didn't want to be put needlessly in the firing line. I pondered on whether I should find Cami and confront her now. I wonder where she'd be. Significant changes in behavior would be noted by the school Witness who analyzed our every move, our speech patterns, our body language and every word they picked up could be twisted and used against us. Confrontation at this time could arouse suspicion. I knew that much.

I was biting my nails when Dorin came clattering through the swing doors. He sat down far too close and elbowed me playfully. He put his feet on the small table in front and relaxed back with his hands clasped behind his head, then he puffed out as if to say like all the downtrodden do, 'ho-hum, what a hard life.'

"Everything OK?" I rubbed my arm and shuffled along. "That kid next to you at lunch. Taken in for using secret languages with his mates. Put down a year and a nail removed. I bet you Cosmin snitched. Harsh."

"No," I said keeping up the pretense for the witnesses. "Not really." I fished for the note in my pocket to show Dorin.

"Stop."

He kicked the table along the floor and sat up. Taking my arm he lead me to the bookcase at the back of the room.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"That's a great book," he said ignoring me. He picked up the Word, the holy teachings of the Messenger. "Read it most nights, even when I'm not forced to. Wise counsel on every page."

Must be playing to the cameras, I thought.

"It's quite a private book. A mixture of doctrine and personal enlightenment. It even tells the story of how he ended up in a wheelchair. Very touching. I almost cried." Now I knew for certain he was acting. Dorin crying. Not on your life.

With his left hand he clicked open the cupboard door and stabbed his head at the latch.

"See if there's another copy in there. Leave this one for plebeians, what do you say?"

I slipped inside. Moments later Dorin followed me.

"Now we can talk," he said. "You'd surely be bottom of the class if there was a class in insurgency. Half the kids in the dining hall must know you found something in your napkin, even the moros. Why did you take more olio, leave it, then rush out like that. A sitting Judas could have photosnapped themnote. Use the brains god gave you."

I heard two girls, maybe more, come into the common room chattering at great speed. Dorin gently closed the cupboard door until the latch clicked and then faced me with a stormy expression.

"You didn't mean it, fine. But when they read the charges, good intentions count for very little. My Uncle says never be seen doing anything unusual. No matter how small. First page on the book of subterfuge. A trained Witness can pick out the smallest insignificant change in pattern. You should have stayed in the refectory as usual, hung about, gossiped and waited til it was safe to read the note. My Uncle says so. Lucky Cosmin butted in to muddy the waters. But that also brought attention. Now where is it? In that pocket."

"I'll eat it," I said submissively, taking it from my pocket and holding it out. "They won't get it then."

"Not so fast. Wait there."

This was a well stocked store cupboard. Piles of religious texts, the Book of Law, the Holy Handbook, and assorted stationery buckled every shelf. Dorin took a sheet of paper and a pen and knelt on the floor. He took the note from my hand and sized it with his own piece of paper.

"You'd say they were about the same?"

I nodded. He started to write. He scribbled some words and some numbers and then sketched a good representation of a canid.

"No," he said scrunching the piece of paper into a ball. "Canid fighting is far too high a sin."

"And cruel," I said.

He took another piece of paper the same size and drew a chess diagram. "That's better."

Finally he got up, folded it in two and handed it to me.

"Now eat the real note and put this one in your pocket. I'll eat the ruined one."

As I was chewing on the paper I asked, "that really happens. Canid fighting?"

"For money too."

"They must rip each other apart."

"So they say. Brutal. Blood and limbs everywhere."

"But playing chess is a class E sin in itself."

"If they catch you with evidence of playing chess then they won't think you committed a higher sin. Then what will happen? You'll be shouted out, given a few hours contrition and maybe a minor penance. A few lashes at worst."

"That's OK for you to say. Black marks never go away. Or lash marks truly heal. Anyway, I'm not stupid. I do know this stuff. Your Uncle is not the only one who bends the laws of the Holy Order. Old man Abe in No.1 tells me things, but I think he's a bit of a crazy to be honest."

"I'm sure but this is what I've been told, Jah, and it comes from people who do not think walking around with a radio antennae helps you pick up conversations with God. If your caught for doing something try to make it a lesser sin. No-one is pure white. They'd pull you in if they thought you were. That's very suspicious in itself as they well understand the frailties of human nature."

I chewed on the paper.

"What was the note, anyway?" asked Dorin.

"Cami wants to speak," I mumbled. "She's running."

"Ye Gods, must be serious."

I gulped down the half chewed ball of glutinous paper and realized that it happened to be quite as tasteless as the unleavened bread we got at break time. If Paper had nutrients I'd seriously consider eating it that instead. Then it dawned on me that Dorin might be right. God only knows how he knew all this stuff. He'd say his Uncle.

"Now before afternoon classes go and put the new note in you locker for them to find."

The black marks were starting to stack up. I picked a copy of the Word from a shelf.

"What's that?" said Dorin.

"The reason we're meant to be in here."

"Good thinking now. I like it."

* * *

Assembly days had one virtue. We were relieved of afternoon prayers. When standing through an assembly sermon on how our souls were forsaken and wicked it was hard to believe assembly was better than the mantra prayers we'd otherwise have to repeat ad nauseum. On the other hand, when you're halfway through the turgid boredom of reciting prayers, when you're drifting into a tired trance, and when your head feels like a punctured ball, you realize quickly that assembly is the better deal after all. But it was a game of fractions.

With Dorin beside me we slunk into the assembly hall at the back and took a seat next to a group of school sisters senior to us, the blue jumpsuits gave it away. It had occurred me before, as we settled onto the bench, that our school sisters had developed some kind of a sixth sense known only to them. This sense told them that younger boys were completely meaningless to their lives and how they must be ignored without mercy. It was even worse in fledgling year. This theory of mine bore some solidity, because as evidence, the girls we'd sat next to had not altered their body language in any way to acknowledge our arrival, on the contrary, they had continued to whisper among themselves, shading their mouths, although there was no doubt they had heard us come in. I didn't blame them. There wasn't much we could offer.

Above the stage hung a massive crucifix with the figure of Jesus sculpted in the finest detail. His body was twisted in pain and slung low with a concrete heaviness. The cuts and scars on his body reminded me of the stoned sinner. It was very lifelike and the only crucifix I had ever seen that took my breath away. The gold and black double pennant of the Holy Messenger Incarnate hung from poles at either side of the stage and from the ceiling our school flag drooped down folded in on itself.

Minister Carlberg stood stiff at the dais leafing through an an unnecessarily large bible while Lay Deaconess Mary, who was angrily unmarried, sat by his side in a white gown with a red silk skull cap askew on her head. Seated next to the lay-Deaconess was a senior lay teacher and part-time lay-pastor and the most boring man in the world, Brother Godion, and by his side Novice Magdalene. She had her head lowered in ostentatious reverence. Her inky hair shone under the strong lights.

The Minister had seen us come in, I noticed him grinding his teeth, and the sitting Judas above the door clocked us for sure. Anat was in her usual place at the front and I could see a piece of Cami's head a few pupils along from her. I knew it was her because of the tangled, uncombed, mucky dark mane that would surely fit better on a wild horse.

"We are all gathered here today for a very special occasion," started Minister Carlberg. "Each year our final year female students leave St. Gemma's Ecclesiastical school and take their places in life. Some shall take up trades and lay-jobs, others may be prayed an appointment to seminary, or a military academy to continue the fight against our heathen enemy. Some may be blessed into the holy sisterhood and become holy deaconesses to the Messenger or stay as lay deaconesses or lay sisters in the community. And next week every child leaving Ecclesiastical school will, following tradition and holy doctrine, be blessed into adulthood."

He always gave St. Gem's its full name like there was some other type of school. He stopped and waited while Novice Magdalene fiddled with a projector that had been lowered from the ceiling.

Nervous murmurs ran through the gathered congregation. Then a loud click switching on the projector strangely switched off the murmuring. On white curtains, at the back of the stage, between and over the folds, bold headings in black appeared at the head of several columns. One column had the names of all the final year students. Another had sex of child and ethnicity. Then the classes they attended. The first screen shot had scripture, church history and piety. Cami's had come top in scripture and piety. A nice warm feeling of pride spread around my body. Muttering dispersed around the hall again. A bolder sound this time with added gasps and sarcastic 'oohs'.

"Peace," said Minister Carlberg in a decidedly non-peaceful tone.

He picked an electroprod from from the podium and hammered it down hard. It fired up and fizzed for a moment. An immediate panic-struck hush fell on the hall. "Good. Now here are the final year's marks. We can see how well some of our high achieving students have performed." He cleared his throat. "So to the important business and with no further ado. Could Cami Frum come to the stage and Sheila Shore."

Elder Sister Mary took to her feet and ushered the girls to the center of the stage and positioned them as if they were dolls facing out at us.

"Congratulations girls," said the Elder Sister. "Because of your high marks in every class and your pious demeanor and behavior throughout the year you have been chosen to take orders at the finest Seminary in New Jerusalem, The Poor Clare's of Divine Mercy. Then you will go onto the First Holy Temple and become a blessed Elder Sister to his holy Messenger Incarnate, which I believe you have already begun."

Cami forced a smile and Sheila bowed her head three times. "For a few days only, Elder Sister," said Cami.

"You must be very excited, girls."

"Yes, Sister," they said at the same time.

"Thank you, Elder Sister," said Cami. "I speak for both of us when I say we are very honored."

The Elder Sister addressed the congregation. "I believe Cami Frum is the first nondescript to attend the highest seminary in the land. Your parents will be very proud."

The girls blessed themselves, kissed the crosses that hung around their necks for the purposes of the ceremony and then kissed the back of Elder Sister Mary's proffered hand.

They made other announcements but that was the one I paid attention to. Cami came off stage to a respectful silence and I noticed a tic in her right cheek as she sat back down. A tic that only ever manifested itself when she suffered from nerves just like me. I couldn't figure it out. Her appointment will please both our parents by bringing great honor on the family. She'll be lauded and respected for the rest of her life and need never worry about food or shelter ever again. It seemed a good gig to me. Yet she wanted to run. If anyone should want to run it should be me. Cami had passed the Auto-de-fe already. If only the neural wiping used in the Inquiry hadn't worked and she could tell me what to expect. What would they do to an unbeliever?

* * *

After school, I waited for Dorin by the statue. I thought about missing Seraphim troupe and the consequences that would bring and how another black mark on my dossier waited for me in the shadows of sin. But then again, I might not even be here after next week, so did anything really matter. I recanted in my head the words, 'But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.'

Fine words, but who, I asked myself doubtfully, gave us this life? Then, in my head, I continued with a question, it was well rehearsed, who created the creator? And who created the creator of the creator, and so on ad perpetuum. I really had to stop this kind of thinking. Stop such sinful thoughts. If I couldn't even fool myself,

who else could I fool?

"Are you feeling alright?"

I hoped I hadn't been speaking out loud all along?

"Yea," I said. "Why not?"

Dorin studied me. His dark brown eyes asking questions and his face seeming to smile without the corner of his lips turning up. "You're sweating buckets, bro."

"It's a hot day."

Dorin looked up at the shroud of gray clouds and put his hand out to catch the hazy rain. "So it is."

"Cami will be there," I said changing the subject.

"Good. Always like spending time with the sisters. Now lets go and see this wondrous discovery of yours."

We began walking at a snappy pace, slowing only as we approached the woods. It was getting dark and the trees looked eerie and ancient in the distance. We followed the footpath next to the river, Jordan-over-Thames, an archaic name the Holy Order didn't like us using as the Thames had been dropped in official literature. We used it sometimes as a small act of rebellion.

The river snaked a course through New Jericho, dividing the city into two halves like a thick blue thread. To the south three apartment blocks rose like concrete giants from the land. I lived in the middle one on the 13th floor. The elevator never worked so that 13th floor was always very far away. Given the rations we're allotted and the exercise I get up and down those apartment stairs, especially when I and not Cami had to nip out for basic provisions, it was a mystery to me why I was fat at all. Ho-hum. Big boned my mother said. Sign me up to that.

Then, a little round Judas hovered across the river. Dorin scooped up a stone from the path and aiming it at the eyeball he tossed the stone over the river. It fell short and splashed near the embankment. Had lost confidence at the final moment?

"I wonder what this place looked like before the Great Rupture," he said breaking our comfortable silence. "Before it was destroyed and rebuilt. Before the new woods and when the ruins were places people lived in."

Although he was correct you could still find signs of the old world in the occasional ruin that stubbornly remained, and in some of the cobbled streets in the city, or a building or two in the parish square that had been converted into a temple, nothing much remained. There still stood one shining example, however.

"The Cathedral," I said. "That still stands. The First Basilica. St. Paul's my dad said it was once called. Mostly like that, I suppose. He also said the First Temple was once a palace for kings and queens. Mostly restored after the Rupture."

"They knew how to make buildings back then. A true monument to God. Not like these modern boxes they build. But I mean the homes. Where did they live? Did they live in high towers?"

Dorin had a thing about architecture which I didn't share.

"Have you ever been to that old house past the hanging tree?" I said. "That was rebuilt from an existing building that'd been destroyed. Someone must have lived there once."

"Suppose," said Dorin. "No palace, is it? The Messenger certainly looks after himself alright. And his many acolytes. A hierarchy of rogues."

This was heresy and I felt uncomfortable especially since we didn't know where the Judas had gone.

"Loose lips sink ships, Dorin. Anyone could be listening. It's not hard to hide a sitting Judas around here."

"Correct. But I'm starting not to care anymore."

"Me too. But there's no point in bringing on trouble, is there? Our families could still suffer by

associative guilt,. Remember? "

"How could I forget," he said unconvinced. "My dad. That time they pulled a toenail because Anat was found with a boy. Purely innocent stuff as well."

"We can talk at the tree. Not far now and no Judases."

My many boring hours of orienteering with Seraphim troupe had given me time to check for snoops. We were both feeling sorry for ourselves when Dorin noticed a piece of graffiti on a rock close to the embankment of the river.

"Look," he said excitedly. "COT."

"We need to keep our voices down," I loud whispered. "I've been seeing more and more of these around SoJo."

It was an out-turned palm with an eye in the center.

"Cleansing of the Temple Liberation Army," said Dorin. " A secret, and heretical, organization that wants to overthrow the Holy Order and replace it with a fair, non-violent alternative. Who could possibly argue with that?" Then, into the woods he shouted. "Except for me and my friend. We damn them

all. Pagan devils."

"Your description sounds like it's straight out of a political pamphlet. Come on," I said. "We better hurry up."

"It was," he said. "Apart from the heretical bit."

We started to walk faster. "What does that symbol mean?"

"The hidden eye. It sees. When we are free the hand stretches out and we see the truth. And with truth comes freedom."

"Clever," I said. "Do you think they exist in numbers? I can't believe there's an organised resistance to the Messenger."

"Well, I heard there had been some trouble in the North along the border. Who knows? Your sister will be waiting."

"Hey, that's my line," I said, trying to lighten the mood and resulting in the usual awkward hush.

"We should go across the marsh," I said chirpily. "Quicker that way. Don't need to walk round it."

The Oaks of Bashan was the official name for the woods, even though the trees weren't all oaks, and it stretched from South East Jericho all the way to the grand parks of central Jericho and not far from where the Holy Temple and the First Basilica were situated. My less salubrious home was a few miles further east and back down the river. We came to the marsh and stopped at the edge. Our feet were already sinking.

"Do you remember?" said Dorin.

I didn't but I wasn't letting on, not in your life. "You go first, then," he said, teasing, prodding.

There was a tuft of grass on the surface next to some reeds growing up through the muddy glupe. I took a step back and jumped, landing next to the grass, to the left of the reeds. Just as I thought, there was a rock a few centimeters below the surface. It was hidden from sight but the grass gave it away, and the reeds helped me judge which side the rock was on. I kept going in this manner until I reached the other side. When I was across, Dorin splashed from rock to rock, never once having two feet on the same rock at the same time. An act of magic, or some would say a miracle. Truths, to the faithful, to the unquestioning believer, always tended to be less interesting than the myth.

The hanging tree was named by us, not because people were hanged from it, but because the tree overhung the Valley of Elah, or as we just called it, the valley. Notable for its steep, almost vertical cliff walls, its wide ledges and thick vegetation, the valley was a challenging climb for the adventurous and a playground for the show-offs.

The valley face grew shallower towards the bottom and was probably once an old quarry or it could have been bombed out in the Great Rupture but there were no

signs of a riverbed to suggest it was hollowed by water or ice. The story goes that the devil's tail carved out the quarry in anger after being banished from the Temple by the First Messenger. They even have a celebration day for it. When we got to the tree it was almost night time. The moon was full and bright and lights flicked from buildings across the river.

The old birch tree leaned over the valley at a precarious forty five degree angle. Rubble and mud had fallen away from beneath the tree revealing a root system that stuck out from the cliff, secured only by the roots that stretched into the woods. It made the perfect hideaway because you could climb into a hollow under the tree, and there you were hidden from the world and you felt safe.

A hundred yards from the tree and I gave the call. Two short, sharp whistles followed by a long third whistle. Cami replied on cue; the inverse. I climbed down first before Dorin got a chance. We had tied a rope Dorin's Uncle had given us around the trunk of the hanging tree, but the roots acted as such ideal lowering ropes I often used them instead. When I was only a meter or so from the hollow I gripped with both hands a loose clump of tangled weeds that hung from the cliff side and swung down onto the ledge, squeezed between the tree's roots that formed a kind of cage and into the hideaway. Cami was waiting crossed legged on the ground, still and calm. I knew her too well. Inside she'd be in turmoil.

"Ave, bro," she said buoyantly. "How goes it?"

"How goes you, more like?"

"I think I'm pregnant." Just like that, in a low dispassionate tone.

"What?" said Dorin arriving in more style than I had. "Did I get that right. Pregnant?"

Cami rocked her head. Any pretense at buoyancy had now vanished completely.

"Well that's just great," I said. "And you risked an electroprod today from the Novice. How wonderful.

When's it due? What will you call the new bundle of joy?"

"Don't be so sarcastic, Jah. This is serious."

"I'm quite aware of that," I snapped. "You're underage, unmarried and waiting for your coming of age blessing..." I broke off in despair. "And down the line your going to be hallowed to the church. At the Holy Temple no less. Mum and Dad, what about them? Who's is it? You'll need to get rid of it."

"Slow down, " said Cami. "Breathe. I will not be getting rid of anything. Where does doctrine stand on abortion? Isn't that a life too?"

"Well it is until it happens to you."

"If the Order finds out," said Dorin. "It could mean ultimate retribution. The Noble Witness even. Alteration."

"I know," said Cami. Her voice cracked and her eyes turned watery. I sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. She turned limp.

"I'm sorry," I said, but with my sympathy vanishing before it had hardly started, I added. "Who else knows?"

"Only Anat."

"Good. At least Anat is trustworthy."

"You've met my sister, right? You do realize she is one of the world's biggest gossips. When I was growing up it was like having your own personal voice over. She commented on my every single move, to anyone who'd listen. And sometimes when no-one was listening, she imagined her own audience."

"But we can trust her with the big stuff," I said. "Surely, Dorin, now she's grown up?"

"Yea. Of course. Don't worry about that side of things, Cami. I'll have a word."

We all thought of the next move. The next consoling word to say. I couldn't help myself and blurted out, "A pregnant underage girl on the run. Are you mad? And I notice you didn't answer me about the father."

"Shut up, Jah, you're not my dad and the father is frankly none of your business. It was a stupid mistake. A really, really, really stupid mistake. The most stupid mistake I've ever made."

She shook herself down violently as if she were having a fit, but I knew it was her way of exorcising the memory, shaking away the bad thoughts.

"If you desert where will you go?" I said. "Think about it. Head north to the border? No chance. The border there is more tightly closed than anywhere else. There's patrol boats and radar walls out at sea. On land you've got barbed wire and sentries with canids and you've heard how vicious they are. And even if you did cross into the north, what then? You don't know anyone and you'd be ripped to shreds by heretics, by Djinns. They tell us they are worse than the canids."

Dorin was nodding in agreement while Cami stared at the ground without blinking.

"What if you headed south to the coast? Terrible idea. You'd be arrested in twenty-four hours. No good Samaritan would shelter you because of associative guilt and you being unblessed and so young. They would be guilty of the same personal treason against the Messenger as you. Same problem with the coastal border. And the lands across the sea are populated with who knows what barbarity. Evil spirits of unimaginable cruelty. We are surrounded on all sides. You know this. And, anyway, you'd never get across the sea if you went east or west either and even if there was a way to the coast, then you'd have to travel by night, hide in the day, steal food or just go hungry. And all this with a baby on the way."

"We have relatives in the north," said Cami. "Near New Golgotha. I could stay with them until we figure a way to cross the border. And I have doubts about the evil of these heretics, anyway. Could it be any worse, really?" Dorin appeared to nod in agreement. Did they know something I didn't.

"The shells they fire into New Jerusalem every single day would say yes. Your dreaming Cami," I said.

"Soon as you don't turn up at class they'd put out a call and a ransom. You'd have every Judas in the land looking out for you."

"I have no choice," she said. "I'm leaving tonight."

"Cami," said Dorin. "Don't go tonight. Let me speak to a friend. I may be able to help. A safe road out I mean. Or more accurately, a safe tunnel."

"What are you talking about?" I said. "Talk to who? A mole?"

"Please, just trust me on this one."

After all was said and done we did trust him and this had the effect of calming a fraught situation. The respite after the storm, or was it half-time?

"Look," said Dorin. "Why are we here again. It's getting late. We'll be missed. The curfew will be coming soon."

I had completely forgotten about that in all the drama. I said, "Jeez, of course."

It was hidden at the back of the hideaway. I burrowed at the soft mud like Dorin's mole until I felt the hard casing. Wiping it clean I held it up like a holy offering and said, "What do you think this is?"

Dorin took it from me and turned it over in his hands, examining it with great care.

"Some kind of electronic Tablet. I assume this is a screen. Might be an army device. A location detector or something."

"That's what I thought," I said. "But have you ever seen anything like it. The design, the materials, the strange blue. I'm taking it home to try and get it working. My dad's old electronic tools are still in the attic. David's Mighty Warriors trained him as an electronics engineer while at the Palace. He apparently repaired the flying Judas Eyeballs."

"I'd be interested to see if it fires up and what it shows. It has a fingerprint pad in the corner."

"I hadn't noticed that."

"Where did you find it?"

"When I was out with the Seraphim troupe one night orienteering. Found it further up the river. I was trailing behind when I saw it under a bush. Had to be sly about it."

Cami's dark cheeks had drained of color, and she looked twenty years older, the image of our mother. She hadn't even looked at the Tablet.

"We really shouldn't be talking like this," I said. "So openly. I know we searched the area but still, they know kids come here. Let's go home. Curfew is soon. The moon is nearly above Celestial Towers. I'll see Dorin in the morning. He might know more by then. We'll sort it. Don't worry."

"My Uncle says they set up safe places to monitor us. Get us when we are at our most relaxed."

"Your Uncle is so helpful," I said. "Come on Cami."

"I appreciate everything," she said. "But I'm going after 48 hours if we haven't moved forward by then."

Me and Dorin passed a knowing look between us. We were both left in no doubt that she would run alone. "We'll all meet back here tomorrow night," said Dorin. "I'll see if Anat can come too. A sisterly shoulder for Cami."


	3. Chapter 3

****Chapter 3****

Regardless of the wisdom that poured from Dorin's Uncle it was clear the Holy Order were quite confidant in their surveillance coverage and it wasn't forbidden to go into the woods, though few kids ventured there. It seemed wiser to keep your nose clean and not invite suspicion. "No-one is squeaky clean. That's suspicious in itself." True.

When we arrived home I went straight into the living room to make certain the spectrospiel on the wall had seen me. Even though the sitting Judases in the tower block would have spotted us enter and climb the stairs I wanted to make double certain the Witnesses would know we had returned home. I pushed the forgiveness icon and then the prayer icon and laid my palms flat on the screen to imbibe God's will. Cami used the spectrospiel in the kitchen.

Earlier, the bushes along Jordan-over-Thames would have obscured us from the flying Judas over the river. And if I hadn't been missed at Seraphim troupe then the Witnesses would be no wiser. And in view of my Seraphim troupe leader, Brother Godion, being such a babulus and never bothering to take a register I should be in the clear there unless some troupe do-gooder decides they want a white mark on their file. That seemed unlikely. They weren't a bad bunch.

When I had finished my duty I went into the kitchen, my stomach aching for food. My dad, Adam, sat on an old wooden chair at an angle to the kitchen table and practically in the middle of the floor, taking up way too much space in my opinion. He rubbed at his old aching shin wound which, seemingly, required a vast area to accomplish and, as I squeezed past him sucking in my belly, it occurred to me in moments like these just how small the rooms were. My mum stood at the sink washing dishes for dinner, so wedded was she to this sink I swear I knew her back better than her front, as I'd held conversations with it often enough. 'If she didn't do it,' her voice said inside my head, 'then it wouldn't get done,' and she had a point. Cami had coasted to her room for some me time.

"Ave mum, salve dad," I said with an air of, 'there's nothing wrong here, all is tickety boo.'

"Hello, son," said dad. "Keeping up the good fight?"

I took this to be a rhetorical question and left it hanging.

"Good day at 's?" said my mum, Agatha, not bothering to face me, but then, 'it wouldn't get done,' if she wasted time.

She was hunched, her narrow arching shoulders obscured the nape of her neck, clumped hair hung like knotted rope, the laces of an untied apron dangled down her back and she stood barefoot. Everything was held in place by a skinny body, made so because she denied herself food so we could get more. I felt selfish and ashamed at that moment while she buckled with the weight of the world on top of her. She had no control over the problems that worried her, and sometimes, I wished she didn't care so much. And I wished she would eat more.

"Sorry mum. Distracted there. Usual. What's that smell?"

"I managed to barter a piece of pork for us."

"What did you barter?" I asked.

"Never you mind, nosy."

"You'll get in trouble."

"Tosh. You having some, Adam?"

"Yes, dear. My mouth waters like a camel."

The spectrospiel on the kitchen wall had a stern lady announcer giving a recap of events that had occurred during the day. News from the northern frontier. I had no doubt Numen's Army Corp would be in the same military position as they had been a year ago just as they had been the year before that and for as long as I could remember. I was as certain about that as I am about the sun rising. Cami walked into the kitchen and faked smiled at me. We took our places at the kitchen table and watched in disbelief as my dad scrapped across the floor without getting from the chair.

"Can't you get up, dear." My mum practically sighed the words.

"God be with you in our holy war against heretics, infidels and Djinns,"said the lady announcer.

These announcers all looked the same; oily black hair, powder white faces and dark clothes, all stark and large on the spectrospiels and right in your face. "Our Holy Army, Numen's Army Corp, successfully captured Argah overnight which we lost last year because of under-supply.. Our push Northwards into the heathen lands is yielding great success as is our defense of the southern flatland. They continue to shell our holy cities night and day, so work harder for the good of our holy warriors. The devil never sleeps. Pain is gain. You shall be rewarded in heaven for your deeds and for your suffering and support in our Holy Messenger Incarnate, immortal be his name.. He looks upon you and guides you to everlasting life."

The adults were often encouraged to work hard in their industries to keep the troops supplied and morale high. The children, like Cami and me, were encouraged to be good and serve the lord and we too could one day fight the holy war in the name of the Holy Messenger. It finished, "we are forever vigilant along our northern and southern borders. Those in cahoots with the devil are sly and malevolent. They exist to corrupt your children. God guard you and god guide The Messenger."

The lady faded away and was replaced with a Cleric. This meant time for prayers. We followed his lead dutifully like good devout citizens. Soon, he too faded away.

After this, a different lady announcer, who wore a cross and had a gold and red broach pinned on her chest, appeared and informed us of tomorrows coming events. I hadn't seen her before, she looked different to the rest, must be the eyes, you can't hide your eyes. Maybe the old one was pushing daisies.

"At noon there will be a public burning of a heretic, a nondescript from the lower east side ghetto who stands accused of crimes against the nation of New Jerusalem and its most devout parishioners. She has confessed to being a member of a rebel group, whose recent bombing of the Department of Morals murdered two moral guardians, men of great faith. Under inquiry by the Parish Witness of the diocese of New Jericho she also helped secure an important victory against those who want to do us harm from within. Any member of a revolutionary group will be automatically sentenced to death."

'Which one is that?' whispered Cami.

"Jehennama," said Agatha. "Quiet and respect the message. It watches and hears."

"Sorry." Cami lowered her head. She shielded her mouth and re-lipped the question. I followed her lead.

"Cleansing of the Temple Liberation Army, " I mouthed. "I think. Something like that."

"You too," snapped my mother and soft slapped the back of my head. "They're not stupid. Such tactics will get you in trouble."

"Sorry mum." My head sank too.

When the news finished and our nightly duty at the monitor was done we ate diner. When my mother placed our bowls of olio and pork at the table she took a seat across from my father, who dipped his head over the bowl and intoned, "God bless the Messenger Incarnate and the Table of Elder Bishops for what we are about to receive, Amen."

"Thank you, dear," said my mum. "So, Jah, what happened at 's today? Anything exciting?"

It were as if the days actually varied such was the optimism with which my mother delivered this question each night.

"Err," I stuttered, searching my head for an interesting answer, something I thought we'd already been through, but, ho-hum, on the face of it my answer was not to my mother's satisfaction. Avoiding the obvious about Cami I trotted out, "prayers, meditation, classes on the military, theology and doctrine, basic psychology of the sinful, scripture, church history. Usual stuff."

Cami looked at me and widened her eyes as if to say, 'had I forgotten?' No, but was it my place to say?

"Oh yes," I said as if having just remembered, " and there was the award ceremony for the most outstanding pupils. You know, what those leaving Senior Ecclesiastical College will go on to do next year. Just like Cami."

Cami furrowed her brow. My stomach butterflied for her.

"That was today! How exciting. You never said it was today. Remember that, Adam?"

"What collection of fools will they choose now?" he said, looking up from his meal, pork fat glistening around his mouth.

His eyes came alive with a watery flicker. I sensed a change of tune after doing so well for the Witnesses. He would have to make amends now. We understood and he laid it on thick.

"I was appointed to the holy military academy. An honor beyond any other. Took a certain type of individual. One who could handle progressive study and undisclosed revelations if you were appointed to David's Mighty Warriors. I was doing the Lord's work by protecting his holy representative on earth from evil forces." He added. "It doesn't get much higher than that."

Cami sighed. She knew what was coming. We all did.

"And one day you could work at the Holy Temple as a hallowed female and an Elder Sister to his Holiness. A holy deaconess no less." My father turned to me. "And my boy Jah here," he said placing a hand on my back, "doing fine work I hear in the Seraphim troupe. Won't be long before he's called up to Numen's Army Corp, or better, David's Mighty Warriors just like his dad."

His hand went to his leg and his face folded in pain. He inhaled sharply. His cheeks were red and his chin oozed layers of loose skin and fat. Invalidity had been unkind to him.

"Devil take you! What a cursed injury.," he yelped.

"Language dear," snapped my mum while shaking her head in mock outrage. "Those who guard their mouths and their tongues keep themselves from calamity."

"I'd kill to see inside the the Temple again."

"Hush, dear."

"The Seraphim troupe is more of an after school play group and nothing like army training," I said, coming back to the subject.

"The older you get the harder it becomes." His face reassembled.

Cami had remained suspiciously silent.

"I hope you're keeping the gold and diamonds nice and sparkly, dear?" said Adam not letting the subject of the Temple go so easily. "I'd love to see inside the Temple again. Magnificent artifacts. A quick snap wouldn't hurt anyone. We are good people. And you are a lay-pastor after all. You must have some sway at the palace."

"No photosnaps are allowed and we are regularly scanned and psychologically tested," said Agatha.

"As you well know. And yes, my cleaning skills are second to none. And for the umpteenth time, I have no power whatsoever. I clean and offer pastoral care."

I sensed patience ebbing away very quickly in her voice.

"You're too clever for such work," said Cami.

"Jehannama," said Agatha. "Watch your sinful mouth. Working for the Messenger is an honor. He heals our soul and our body."

"Forgive me," said Cami.

"Well, Cami?" said my mum. "What is your future? Are you to be accepted, after you're initiation so far. A seminary appointment then maybe to the palace as a hallowed deaconess. I could see you everyday."

"The Poor Clare's of Divine Mercy."

"Praise," blurted my dad. "Fantastic. Now the people is this block won't think so low of us."

"That's wonderful, dear," said Mum. "You must be happy."

"Of course," said Cami. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"We'll talk tomorrow," said Mum. "And celebrate."

"With alcohol," said Dad."I mean with non-alcoholic drink."

"Now off you two go and get cleaned up. Exorcism Live is on the spectrospiel later." Agatha gave a shallow nod and began to tidy up. Cami's good news had taken years from her face. I could see the pretty young girl she once was before incessant worrying had ravaged her.

"Helping, Adam?"

"Yes," he said. "Sorry, darling. Of course, the old leg you know. Gets in the way."

We excused ourselves and left, after the elephant in the room, the auto-de-fe, had been skillfully avoided. I'd go through the nightly motions first and then later on I'd sneak to the attic with my mysterious quarry.

* * *

Exorcism Tonight, what a repugnant show. Broadcast live on the Vox Dei network, it concerned those teenage souls with signs of demonic possession, often nominated by the family when seizures and fits were beyond herbal cure or prayer. They were brought before the nation and with the help of sanctified clerics, cleansed of the demons who had stolen their souls.

The prospect of the dupes on theshow achieving this filled me with both dread and excitement. Last week I knew the girl, she came from the tower block over the field, a year or two older than me, unfortunately she never made it. Banners were hung from windows mourning her passing until they were ripped down by the army.

We settled on the long hard sofa as if we were waiting on a train. The screen on the wall flickered static. Even when not broadcasting the spectrospiel still watched us as we watched it.

"Good evening," said Jez Day, the smarmy tanned presenter, who aimed for a healthy brown hue but winded up a sickly orange. "Welcome to Exorcism Tonight."

His teeth were eye-popping white and his hair long and straight, swept back and smooth as you like.

"Tonight we have a sorry soul, indeed. Her name is Gertrude, she is fifteen years old, and comes from Berea. Her family are at their wits end. They have prayed day and night for her soul, yet this demon is strong. Their final recourse was to ask the show for help."

The camera panned around the small bedroom. A starved-thin girl had been strapped to the bed. She was wriggling against the restraints, her eyes were large and round and full of fear. At the foot of the bed stood a Blood Monk in robes reading from a bible and crossing himself over and over again. He brought a phial of holy water he was holding from out of his broad-brimmed sleeve and sent droplets over the bed. The water angered the girl and she fought harder against the unforgiving straps. I had a sinking feeling that this one would end bad.

The camera returned to Jez Day whose expression had a mixture of concern and accusation, I think. His face would contort into these strange shapes which were meant to express his inner feelings, ironically however, this made him harder to read as the expressions were so other worldly and painful and not ones you ever met in everyday life. He was slowly shaking his his head and biting his bottom lip while casting glances at the girl.

"That Jez is one weirdo," said my dad. "You'd think he was a madman if you met him on the street."

"Ssh," said Agatha. "Watch your words."

"I think we are safe, dear. They won't storm the apartment for a little teasing."

"He's right," I said. "I think he's an alien. One day he'll whip off his face and underneath will be some lizard creature."

Cami chortled behind her hand.

"Enough," said Agatha pointing at the Spiel. "Look, the guards are coming in."

We all looked at the screen. Into the cramped, tiny bedroom room pounded two massive holy guards. All big shiny boots, black uniforms, hard helmets and weapon belts. After a nod and a wink from the Blood Monk they marched to the bed and unstrapped the girl. They pulled her up and stood her in the middle of the bedroom. Her legs went limp and buckled and her head flopped to the side. The eyes remained wide and alert, staring and fixed on a point. The guards held her up while the Monk positioned himself in front of the half-dead girl and raising a hand he placed it flat on her forehead.

"Time," he announced.

Jez Day opened the door and in walked an Elder Sister in full red habit and black wimple. She pushed a generator with two electrodes attached. Cami let out a gasp and I sensed her tense up which made me tense up.

"Stop it," I whispered.

"Stop what? Not shock therapy."

The Blood Monk spoke fast and softly about god's power and anger. I noticed the girl starting to shake and the guards pulling her closer and holding her tighter. Sudden violent convulsions broke her free of the guard's grasp. She fell with an audible slap to the floor and bucked wildly. Her eyes rolled back to reveal large white globes that popped from her head, threatening to shoot across the room. In the shock, the Blood Monk dropped his phial of holy water which bounced off a guard's boot and smashed on to the floor. The bible fell, too, open paged and into the water.

"Baalim almighty," said Agatha. "I wish we could switch it off."

"God compels you demon," shouted the Monk, "to leave this child's body." He held up a cross. "In the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost. Most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies, Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in our battle against principalities and powers, against the rulers of this world of darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places."

The guards scooped the girl from the floor and carried her to the bed as if she were a slimy fish. Her body writhed out of control, her arms and legs thrashed so violently I thought she might break in two, her head was flung from side to side as if she were escaping a deadly fever, and finally she slipped from the guard's hold. They picked her back up and tossed her onto the bad like they were fed up being gentle. The Elder Sister moved to the bedside.

"I can't watch," said Agatha.

"Me, too," said Cami.

Saliva spilled down her face and onto the floor mixing with the holy water. The Monk tried to place his hand on her head but couldn't catch it. The guards had grabbed the straps in order to contain the demonic seizure when the girl fell from the bed and landed face down on the floor. Everyone in the room froze like a photosnap, and the girl stopped moving. The guards looked at the Monk who in turn looked at Jez Day, who had been watching the scene unfold like the rest of us. He pulled the camera round so only his face was visible.

"That is the strength of evil, my brothers and sisters," he said and repeated slower and deeper, "that is the strength of evil." He forced a single tear from his eye.

"That is the strength of over-sized guards," my dad said.

I'd seen it all before and was ashamed to say I'd become immune, and ashamed we all watched it together, although it was an unsaid understanding that it was always good to let the Witnesses know where we were at night, saves a knock at the door and the scramble to explain ones whereabouts. The burden of proof is upon the defendant.

* * *

I waited until the apartment was completely silent before I slipped from my room and into the hallway.

"Sheesh," I whispered angrily.

I'd forgotten the damn Tablet. I was half-way down the hallway when I had to dart back to my room, stupidly clattering the door off the wall and sending a ring through the dark silence. I waited behind the door listening for movement. The apartment creaked and groaned but not with human life, and then I heard along the hallway my dad's deathly snore. So irritating when you are trying to sleep, but tonight, strangely comforting.

Creeping along like a professional thief I passed Cami's closed bedroom door and next my parent's door. I felt my way along the wall and ducked under the hall's spectrospiel. The darkness was impenetrable. The lights of the city had been shut down now for several hours and the moonlight was obscured behind clouds. Why did the loft hatch have to be so close to the bedrooms and the damn spying spectrospiel? The little step-up was against the wall where my dad had left it. 'Always in the way,' my mum would complain.

I got onto the step and reaching up pushed the loft hatch inwards and away from the opening. I gripped the wooden edge and pulled myself up, while at the same time pushing with my feet against the wall to help propel me through the opening and into the loft. I was wheezing when I made it inside. I had never been in the loft before when it was this dark and I couldn't see the outline of my dad's workbench, but I had a vague idea where it was. On my hands and knees I crawled to the far side of the room. My head banged off, what I imagined, was a bench leg.

"Ow," I cried under my breath. "Now why would he bother to move it?"

I got to my feet and ran my hands flat over the surface.

"No, not that." I had picked up a hard, round object.

I squeezed and handled various pieces of electrical paraphernalia before I discarded them in frustration until I finally came across the shape I was looking for.

"Jeez," I said. "Got it. At last."

I picked up the flashlight, turned it on its end and sat it shining upwards onto the ceiling. Now I could see and, oddly enough, smell, too. And how different the smell in the loft was to the rest of the apartment, old and musty, stale and rotten, and there was a thick column of dust hanging motionless in the beam of light.

In the corners and between the rafters, cobwebs shimmered silver and I heard the rustle of a bird's nest somewhere. Bad for me, but I had woken moths from their rest. They fluttered around sleepily, then erratically, there fat hairy thoraxes bouncing off the rafters. Undaunted, they carried their horrible little winged bodies towards me and towards the flashlight. I hated them. I ducked under the bench, shaking and with my heart thumping. My pulse sped up to a dangerous level. I peeked out and they were still there circling the beam of light, two of them. What now? I felt trapped. Reaching up slowly and smoothly like they could actually attack, I searched the bench.

"Where is it? Come on, come on. Sheesh. Ah, got it."

I sighed and snatched the flashlight down under the bench and fumbled with the switch. The loft turned black. I waited and watched my insect enemy flutter towards the soft light of the hatch, the ever so faint light of the moon that had oozed through the tiny cracks and spaces and into the apartment. What a relief. I was so ashamed of such a pathetic irrational fear I had always kept it to myself.

"That's better," I said and then chided myself, but still stupidly and nervously talking, "stop speaking, will you. The house has ears at night, too."

I remembered Brother Godion boring us one day about how butterflies were god's great design, how nature would never create something so beautiful just to please the viewer. I wondered where he stood on moths and I'd pluck up the courage next time we met to ask him why did god design something so ugly to me as a hairy moth. Even though they terrified me I had some sympathy for moths as they, too, searched for light among the darkness just like me.

My pulse slowed and I closed the hatch over and turned the flashlight back on, but this time I laid it on its side so it shined waist height away from the ceiling and into the room. I withdrew the Tablet from my sleep bottoms where I had wedged it earlier against the tight waist elastic. I turned it in my hands looking for an outlet or a way to open it. It was so smooth and thin and made in one sleek, metallic blue piece, nothing short of a poly-chromatic and opalescent beauty.

It were as if it came from somewhere else, somewhere more advanced than us because I had seen nothing like it in New Jerusalem. I can't imagine the heretics abroad would make such a thing, and anyway their technology reached only to a few grenade blasters. And even if they had somehow made it, how did it get to the Valley of Elah where I had found it?

My dad had a bewildering array of electronic gadgetry and tools scattered over the attic, their function a mystery to me. But there was one machine I did know. The Accumulator. Used chiefly to fire a quick, remote charge into an emotion device, a communicator or an army navigator, it could penetrate enemy systems and might just bypass a simple security measure like a fingerprint scanner. It stood at the back of the bench behind half a flying Judas, made of two parallel plates held together at the bottom by a flat thin stand. I swept my hand over a sensor and the Accumulator spat as if it were angry. A red light on the control panel suddenly flashed green.

"Right. This is it."

I clamped the Tablet gently between padded tongs and passed it between the plates. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. I turned it over and tried a third time. The screen on the device flashed bright. I held it and waited. It was loading. Then I saw something. Words, in English. Now I knew it wasn't the heretics, they spoke an array of different languages like the tower of babel. It read,

'Fifty Books That Changed Our Thinking.'

I shivered with excitement. I swept the flashlight from the bench and left.

* * *

Back in my room I got reading right away. 'Our Thinking.' This is what gripped first. Who were

these people whose thoughts had changed? And changed from what?

I read the list of books. The first on the list intrigued me immediately. It was called, 'The Origin of Species,' by Charles Darwin. Was this a topic up for debate? Already, too many questions had been thrown into the air, and I felt I didn't have even an iota of the time needed to catch them as they fell back down. God made man in his own image, end of, no question. Straight doctrine. I remembered, it was logged in my brain, 'Then God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, according to our likeness and let them rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky, and over the cattle and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth."' Was Mr Charles Darwin telling me something different? Unimaginable heresy.

There were other books too of equal fascination. 'The Rights of Man,' by Thomas Paine. 'The Communist Manifesto,' by Marx and Engels. 'The Republic,' by Plato. 'On Liberty,' by John Stuart Mill. The list went on and on and was divided between Politics, Society, Literature and Science. My brain hurt with so much new information and words of such boggling complexity. Words I'd never even heard before, let alone understood their meaning. But words and rhythms, nonetheless, that flew in my brain like caged exotic birds. And this was merely a gateway. A gateway to a dazzling forest of bright colour, of diverse life and wondrous plants, like I had been given a free pass to a secret world of truth and understanding.

There were religious books too, among them the Bible, which had been drummed unrelentingly into my head, but the Qu'ran, The Torah, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, these I had never before heard of. Why not? Which to read first? How does one start a thousand mile journey of fresh learning. A new education, an alternative education. I yearned to absorb everything all at once, digest by osmosis, breath the water like a fish. The obvious answer was to start at the beginning with the first step, so taking a slow deep breath I opened the Origin of Species, slipped under the covers with my flashlight and began reading.

I browsed the inner leaf comment before the actual book and the very first paragraph happened to be mind-blowing enough. What would the rest be like?

It had a subtitle, 'By means of Natural Selection.' It talked about how Darwin's theories went against that of the church and its belief in creationism and challenged humankind's distinct special place above the animals. It presented a body of evidence that the diversity of life arose by common descent through a branching pattern of evolution.

This went against everything I had been taught. After wrangles with church leaders and other scientists it was eventually accepted as fact. 'Accepted as fact.' That sentence would take some shifting from my brain, but then I happened to be the easiest of converts as my own ideas circulated there, too. So if this were true then God created a world of misery and pain and death, and man didn't create his own wretched condition out of freewill? I wasn't sure I even wanted to know this. Truth brings trouble, especially when you stand alone. Those kind of people tend to be the madmen, the crazies. There were enough in our tower block for me to know this; end of the worlders, believers in Armageddon tomorrow, and lest I forget, the paranoid loons who accused our enemies of brain washing our children with secret electromagnetic waves, with the intention of sacrificing our young to Beelzebub. The list went on.

We had been taught briefly of life before the Rupture, and Satan's envoy who ruled then, but little was known of their beliefs, only that they had ritual sacrifices of virgins and ate their innards and drank their blood and worshiped many false gods of debauchery and selfishness. However, in the Darwin's book they talked about the early 19th century which made me question our own dates. The earth, as I knew it, was created 10,000 years ago and we were currently in the year 1005 AFM (After the First Messenger).

I had to assume they were using a different calender but according to Charles Darwin it took millions of years for evolution to get where we are now. It was not a quick process and this threw up yet more disorder and questions in my mind. No Adam and Eve, no Noah and his ark.

I kept reading long into the night and finally fell asleep a few hours before the Switch and the hum of electricity brought life back to the apartment. I had heard my mum in the hallway shortly before falling asleep. She had been at the toilet and then had returned to her room. The walls were paper thin and I could hear my dad snore most nights and sometimes their conversations if they were loud enough or had become impassioned with raised voices. This morning they were talking about me. I didn't catch it all but the main thrust was undeniable.

"He's been asking questions a lot recently about God and existence," said mum, a pleading in her voice, a pleading for some kind of reassurance. "I've convinced him as much as I can but I can't change what's inside his head."

"Yes, but he still believes, doesn't he?" My dad was searching for reassurance now, too.

"Sure." This was sarcastic and for the spectrospiel.

I got from bed and went to the wall to hear better. There was a long silence and just when I was going to go back to bed, my mum spoke.

"I'm so worried about the Auto. The disappearances. The rumors of torture, of mind altering".

I thought I could hear choked sniffling, the kind that comes from the mucus that builds up when you've been crying. I hoped I was being paranoid because I didn't want to think of my mum crying and me being the cause. That was heart-wrenching.

"Everything will be fine, " said my dad. Scant encouragement but at least he was trying. "Rumors are rumors. The gossips know as little as us. He's a good God fearing boy. High marks in all classes at school. They wouldn't be doing that if they thought it was undeserved. If they thought he was an unbeliever. The school would have called us in or we'd have had a knock on the door from a school analyst. Don't worry. It's all good."

"I hope you're right, Adam." Mum sniffed and caught her breath. "I don't know what I'd do if. I don't even want to think about it. I've prayed and prayed."

"Me too."

"We better get up," said mum. "And act normal. Don't let on to Jah we're upset."

"Of course not."

"Do you know a way...?" said my mum.

"Ssh. You know there's no way."

I rushed back to bed and got some sleep. When I woke I took the Tablet and slipped it under the mattress along with the flashlight. Fast as I could I got dressed and headed for the kitchen and morning prayers. We laid our hands on the spectrospeil's screen and prayed, an electrical energy coursed through us. From now on, I would need to do my bit to look like a devout young man and help allay my parent's fears. Allaying my own would be way harder.


	4. Chapter 4

****Chapter 4****

I was alone in the kitchen and the News was on the spectrospiel. "Hardly new," I mumbled quietly so as not to be picked up. "I'd say more a continuing narrative on the most unchanging story ever told. I'd rather read scripture."

The announcer broke in. "Overnight, there have been significant attacks on our Sovereignty. Our southern border has been shelled incessantly for eight hours. Fire was returned and peace re-established in the early hours. We suffered damage to the border wall and inner fence and sadly some loss of life, unknown figures at present. Work hard to supply our troops and prayer for all those souls living and dead."

The lady announcer broke off and then started to list boring numbers on production quotas and economic data. I tuned out as Cami came in and grabbed a bowl. She sat across from me, with her backto the spectrospiel, and mixed some oats with water.

"Do you remember that secret language we made up," I lipped at her angry face. "It was quickly stopped by mum and dad. Jeez, you'd think the world had ended."

"Tonight. You know."

In between mouth fulls, she lipped this as if chewing, with no time for reminiscing.

"Just wait. Dorin may have news."

"You come too."

"I can't," I said shielding the top of my mouth. "If they find we are both missing then the parental repercussions could be unthinkable. High level associative guilt. The Parish Witness. Who knows what else. I need to stay and look after them. Anyway, they won't take two."

But I did want to go.

"Don't make me feel any more guilty. It's not a choice I want to make. I have to, you know that. If I stay the baby will be eradicated."

My mum and dad came in and sat down. A cleric appeared on the spectrospiel and we obediently followed as he lead prayers. My mum's face was heavily lined and pale today. My dad had puffy bags under his eyes and his face seemed to hang as if strings had been attached to his cheeks pulling it downwards. I couldn't handle them this morning, so without eating, and dressing in a hurry I left the apartment. Cami must have had a similar idea because she was hot on my heels.

Dorin and Anat Levine lived across the hall from our apartment, No.15. They walked us to school each morning and back if our obligations aligned. Today outside the apartment, Dorin sat next to Anat on the top step of the stairwell that smelled of urine and rotting food that hadn't made it to the incineration chute. Next to them on the wall was a symbol Dorin was investigating. Two As head to toe in a circle. I thought this one had a disturbing satanic feel to it.

"The sign of the Atheist Annihilation that one," said Dorin. He must have heard the door. "Popping up more and more." He looked up. "How are the cherubs, Jah and Anat, this fine morning. All pious and devout as usual, I guess."

"Maybe you want stoned but I don't," I said. "I'll tell you something, if I get taken in then that graffiti is getting destroyed first. The enemy within that lot."

"Keep your voices down" said Cami. "Judases everywhere."

"Let they without sin cast the first stone. That's what I say." Dorin beamed, poster boy for the smug rebel. "Anyway, the ear is broken. We're not priority. Been like that for days now."

His 'everything is normal' act confused me. That fear that comes with paranoia was always there, even with those closest to you. Paranoia was top emotion in SoJo and it was hard to know sometimes when someone was acting for the Judases or merely trying to convince the person they're in conversation with about the facts.

Just then Mrs Zedekiah stuck her head out of her front door and looked up and down the landing. We turned and watched in what must have been an unsettling move. Having weighed up our level of threat, she sucked on a cigarette and slowly blew out the smoke in a long thin stream before her eyelids fell down in ecstasy.

"Oh," said Dorin. "Sinner are thee. If you're caught smoking."

"Only if you don't zip it. A listening device up there." She pointed with the cigarette which I thought was brave under the circumstances. No-one told her it was broken.

"And an eye along there," said Anat throwing her head in the direction of the stained far away wall.

"Can't see me here," she whispered.

"Where do you get them?" asked Dorin. "An informer is well rewarded."

"Don't sin," snapped Mrs Zedekiah. "Then no penance shall befall thee. And no Grand Witness shall come for thee." She tossed the cigarette into the hallway and said, "Watch it, Dorin Levine. Just like your family, you'll get in trouble one day. Sign up with the Retribution Kids and do something useful for once in your life."

She slammed the door, muttering about evil spirits.

"Psychopath," said Dorin.

"We better go," said Anat.

"Yea," I said. "Are we still on for tonight Dorin?"

"Yea Dorin, ," said Anat. "What about tonight?"

He nodded. Anat grabbed the paint flecked railing and hoisted herself up while saying, "Let's leave these children to it. Eh, Cami?"

"Children," said Dorin in quasi offense. "You're only a year older than me and Cami's a year older than Jah."

"Mentally. Not physically. And don't be late for school again Dorin. Your penance will go up."

"Thanks, sis," he said in a baby voice.

"Just looking out for you. May God guide you."

"Hey, Cami," Dorin said and then mouthed theatrically, "Routine from now on."

She understood and smiled. With that the girls left.

* * *

Strange how Mrs Zedekiah mentioned the Retribution Kids because as we left they were busy entering the tower block next to ours. Most were about my age, a few too young to know what they were doing, and the occasional one too old to even be there. They walked far too close together, feeding from the confidence of the group and emitting the stealthy menace of a pack animal on the hunt. The high-tower they were storming was nicknamed the 'Holy Ghost.'

The tower I lived in took the nickname, 'the Father', because this sat in the middle of a trinity of blocks that made up the white clad eyesores of Celestial Towers. The block positioned on the right was given the name, 'the Son'. On the few times a gang fight erupted with other parishes, fights in which I shamefully skulked at the back, our gang would go into battle chanting the chorus, 'in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.' We thought this to be really clever of us, until we got a steel toe capped boot in the face. And that came delivered just from the girls.

The Retribution Kids were sanctioned with dealing with the most minor of sins in the most brutal of ways. Under sixteens were handed penance or lashed, but adults, through the associative sins of their children or family members, or if they had committed a string of minor sins themselves, were dealt with by the Retribution Kids and usually with the removal of a toenail or a fingernail. A call from a parish Witness, or his lackeys, would be further down the line if those minor sins turned to major sins or you had no nails left, whichever came first.

The Retro Kids had all the clobber on today; dirty white jumpsuits that hadn't been washed from previous reprisals, tool belts bulging with pain inflicting implements, shiny red boots and tiny crimson caps on their heads. Quite intimidating really, which happened to be the point. You wouldn't want to mess with these kids even if you didn't know the awful truth. Older, frailer victims who had fallen foul of holy law were known to have died from bleeding or heart attacks, or just out of plain fear and shame.

"Mr Mailer died last week," whispered Dorin, who seemed to have been reading my thoughts. "His daughter was caught with a boy. That excuse was probably a cover to scare us. They forgive misdemeanors with minor penance. They expect them. But the big stuff, the crimes they see as social breakdown or a threat to their authority. Well that's different. They say he just dropped down dead when they came to his door." He pointed towards the kids at the Holy Ghost Tower. "But his family say he was beaten to pulp. Had two toes cut off and three fingers. Believe what you like."

He searched the sky for a flying Judas.

"Don't they take a toenail for a category B or C sin? That's what I heard."

"Sounds about right," said Dorin.

I'd noticed Cosmin and his friend Dale enter the block along with the other Retro Kids.

"I heard," I said, "that they are too eager to please their clerical masters or more likely their parents, who will get favors and blind eyes turned. You know what I mean?"

"Of course I know what you mean. And my Uncle says it goes deeper than that. They're all in league together. Helping each other out for fancy jobs and good food. Makes me sick."

"Your Uncle sure knows a lot. Is he Abraham or something?"

"Let's get out of here," Dorin said. "Don't want the moros to spot us. Too early to handle simple beasts from the wild."

We jogged in silence for a while until my legs ached. Along from the school gates we stopped, out of site of the Warden.

"Well," said Dorin. "Any luck with that device thing you found?"

"I'll tell you later. Too busy here. You got anything on Cami?"

He tugged my sleeve which meant yes, and then into my ear, "I'll tell you later. Today do nothing out of the ordinary. Act as usual. Routine is key. Can't stress it enough. Meet you there, we all goseparately."

A tug of the sleeve. Dorin's simple answer to a life changing question. I felt like I'd been punched, roughed up, spat on and abused but strangely excited, too. Excited for change. I replied with a yes tug of my own. Your mind was forever gauging how incriminating your words were and then you had to decide in that moment on which hiding technique to use. A pulling and prodding system was good for simple answers. I nodded nervously as we walked towards the gates and a very grouchy looking Warden.

* * *

On the way to the Hanging Tree I saw the school Warden walking his dog along the river. It was a clear evening with distant clouds a fiery orange and red as the sun went down. The smog had lifted from the city burned off by the dying sun. I loved New Jerusalem when it was like this. Something hopeful colored those clouds. A sense that all paths did not necessarily lead to the same place. Time shifts, morphs and I confess I understood at that moment why people believed in a creator, a just and good creator. But understanding is not the same as agreeing, and I knew for every beautiful sunset there is a gloomy day, a harsh wind, a battering rain.

I was trying to make myself small and obsolete so the Warden wouldn't notice me. I stared distantly into the river trying to pretend I was daydreaming and had gone somewhere far off in my mind. Then he might not talk to me, embarrassed to interrupt such a soul searching moment. Dorin said he was an informer of great magnitude that shone beyond his remit as a lowly school Warden. 'Nothing but a rat,' Dorin would say. I flashed a glance to see if he'd passed yet, and I found his damn dog sniffing at my podex. My leg automatically kicked out, a gentle shooing kick that grew more forceful when the dog misunderstood the message.

"Go away, will you," I said. "Nice juicy bone for you away over there somewhere."

I said it like he understood words. Unfortunately, my big juicy podex was a bigger draw and my attempts at distraction had the opposite effect. He flung his paws up and scrambled at my thighs panting and whimpering like a long lost pup who'd found his devoted master after all theses years.

"Where are you, Lazarus?" said the Warden. "Oh, there. Leave that poor boy alone."

He started to walk over with long enthusiastic strides. He was thin as a weasel and bald as a monk. Hooked nosed and white in complexion, his long-limbed frame could be picked from a mob a hundred meters away. Lazarus, what a name, I had to laugh.

"Has he risen from the dead, Warden?" I said.

"It's you , Jah. Lord be with you," he replied. "Lazarus, here, you could say that, yes. Fell out of a window. Was hit with a boulder. Attacked by a pack of army canids and nearly drowned. Used to be called Peter. Had to rename him after his brushes with death."

I stroked the only dog with nine lives, quite warming to his plight and determination.

"He's not a canid, then?"

"Certainly not. A pedigree. Domestic, no wild cross breeding in him. Soft as sheets is Lazarus. Aren't you boy?" After patting the dog he turned more serious."Where you going, Jah? Need to ask."

"Seraphim troupe, then home, Warden."

"I am bound by my position to ask."

"And I am bound by my position as devout citizen to tell the truth. I've taken the oath, Warden."

Looking down I said, "is Lazarus trained?"

"Watch this," said the Warden. He crouched in front of the dog and placed his hand under its chin. With the other hand he tapped the top of Lazarus' head. Some taps were short and others lingered. When he'd finished the dog lay on the ground and rolled over. The Warden fished a treat from his pocket and rewarded the dog.

"See," he said. "Damn dog knows touch code."

He tried again and this time the dog begged for its treat.

"Wow," I said. "That's miraculous."

"Indeed," he said smiling, quite pleased with his trick, but I couldn't help think the dog was doing most of the work. "Come on Laz. Let Jah to it. God guide you, child."

He threw a stone from the ground and walked off with the dog sprinting out in front.


	5. Chapter 5

****Chapter 5****

By the time I arrived at the Hanging tree the sun was disappearing fast. The Autumnal sky had turned gray and vast hulking clouds were deepened to a sinister black. The city was silent tonight and the air clear. I heard a distant explosion, so faint it sounded no more dangerous than a popped balloon. Then from the sky came the loud purr of rotor blades, as distinctive as sound as you can get. I recognized it as a Numen's Army Corp Quadfly. I saw it cross the partly-obscured moon.

Even one Quadfly sounded like a swarm of giant angry bees. They had four mini corner rotors and a carrier unit that hung in the middle. This one made a beelined but they could move in any direction at any time. They could fire blasters and drop bombs and were big enough to hold half a battalion of soldiers. And there always seemed to be one passing overhead to an unknown destination. Old man Gad told me once you were never more than ten feet away from a rat in SoJo, and I think this applied to Quadflys, too.

The purr faded and my panic with it. A flash of light and another faint explosion followed. I waited for smoke to rise but nothing appeared. I looked for more Quadflys high overhead but the sky was empty and the clouds still and gloomy. It made me nervous and I hoped Dorin or Cami had arrived already. I wasn't too keen on waiting alone in the valley as night fell. My mind had a knack of picking out the faintest of sounds and turning them into the most menacing, death threatening demons, and in the shadows lurked devilish monsters of my own making.

Luckily, I heard whispering. I whistled my arrival. The code whistle returned. I climbed down into the den.

"Salve, bro and sis," I said, which I always thought sounded dumb as she actually was my sister.

Their silence filled me with dread. Dorin had a look of impending doom and Cami a look of doom having already descended.

"Party time?" I said. "Where's Anat."

"I told her to stay away," said Dorin.

I soaked in the atmosphere for a moment. "What's wrong?"

"Cami needs to leave tomorrow morning if she wants to go," said Dorin.

"Which I do," she snapped.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," I said. "Where's she going?"

"Underground," said Dorin. "The less everyone knows the better."

"But who with? Who's taking her."

"A couple of friends of mine. Please don't ask questions. Then under inquisition you'll genuinely know nothing."

"I didn't ask you this morning," I said, sharply turning my judgmental gaze on Cami, "but did you tell mum and dad about the baby?" She looked away.

"Why worry them?" she said.

"Why worry them?" I said, feeling myself turning into parental mode. "Punishment Retribution. Torture Inquisition. That kind of stuff, you know. If you tell them they might prepare for it."

"I shouldn't be saying this," said Dorin. "But they are going to fake her death and change her identity."

"What?" I said, incredulous. "Who and how the Jehannama are they going to do that?"

"Trust me," said Dorin. "I know the right people."

"What people do _you_ know?"

"Good people who want to help," he said. "Just accept it. It's the least worse option open to you."

"Can I not go too, then," I said. "If you can fake deaths then our parents are less guilty. Get out of this Auto-de-fe nonsense. Because they'll find out I don't believe in their savior. Then what? I'll disappear. Where? Forced labor, death. Who knows."

"No. You'll be fine. I've heard they can implant belief in your mind now. Running and going underground is for extreme circumstances and they need to keep it down to a minimum and not arouse suspicion of organized stitch ups. You've no idea the trouble I went to. They didn't want to go for it. New identities are not easily found."

"There's that 'they' again. Who are 'they'?"

I didn't expect an answer and I didn't get one.

"It's ok for you," I said to Dorin. "You don't believe in the system and Cami doesn't believe in some of the laws. I don't believe in the whole premise. How do you think that makes me feel? I could be eradicated. I need to go, too. There's no other solution."

"You've changed your tune," said Cami.

"Lie," said Dorin. "Lie your heart out. They think you're good. Just keep it up."

"That rock strata over there." I pointed at the valley wall. "There's the age of the earth right there. Right before us. I know too much. I've read it."

"It's not all about you," shouted Cami. "Now shut up and fake it. I can't fake not being pregnant. Can I?"

"Both of you shut up," said Dorin, "and listen. Cami will go to school as normal. Then on the way home through town she'll go to the Messenger's statue at the square's stoning station, and puff, she'll disappear." He flicked his fingers wide to emulate a vanishing puff of smoke.

"Will I see you again?" I said to Cami.

"Hope so. I know as much as you. To be honest I don't want to know. It's best that way. Dorin's right."

"What do you mean? Dorin's right. You don't even know these people, what if …." I stopped. "What was that?" I looked up. "Did you hear something?"

Cami nodded and put a finger to her lips and quietly make a shush sound. Overhead, I heard crisp leaves being crunched by what had to be feet and small twigs too, dry snaps that stabbed the silence. From the spread of the noise I guessed at more than one person, or animal. A tight, wound up state entered the den and we collectively solidified into stone and listened to every tiny nuance of sound as if our lives hung in the balance. I could hear male voices, not too old, teenagers for sure. They sounded good-time enough but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Who goes before the Lord?"

Was he talking to us? A greeting tinged with threat. Should we just answer? What's the worst that could happen? Then it struck me that they might have overheard us. I replayed everything we had said in my head and it was bad. Incriminatory bad.

"I think they're under there," said a different voice. "That's where the noises are coming from."

"Who goes before the Lord? Answer."

I looked pleadingly at Dorin and Cami. They looked at each other as if they had hatched a killer plan between them. I hoped they had because I had nothing. I pulled my head back and to the side, trying to draw out information. I tugged Dorin's sleeve and tapped out a message on his arm. 'SOUNDS LIKE COSMIN."

"Who's asking?" I said in an exaggerated tone, attempting to give off an air of innocence in my voice in case it was just a Warden. What with Wardens not being the brightest of officials they could be easily duped.

The answer came back obediently and with great pride. "Cosmin Bale. Is that Jah Obesus ? I knew it."

I whispered. "This means he's been listening and now he can place my voice."

"Who else goes before the Lord? No, let me guess. Dorin magnus mouth and the sister of the obesus, forgot her name, the Tamar."

Well, he had definitely identified us in his own unique style. Tamar, though, that was an old one and I had to think hard. A Tamar was a prostitute who I think got pregnant in Genesis. I heard Mr Zebediah down the hall in our block call his wife a Tamar once, and I remember looking it up straight away. Cosmin knew the juicy stuff alright.

"'Whoever belittles his neighbor lacks sense, but a man of understanding remains silent,' Proverbs 11:12." Dorin shouted this heavenwards with great drama and continued, "For dogs have surrounded me; a gang of evildoers has closed in on me; they pierced my hands and my feet. Psalm 22:16, if you're interested."

"You really are a monument to the strange. Come up and face us."

"What are you doing?" I said.

"No problem." Dorin got to his feet. "No doubt all references will be lost on you, anyway."

"Hang on," I said, pulling Dorin back. "I'm coming. I've got your back. And did you just liken yourself to Jesus?"

Dorin shrugged nonchalantly. "If God wills it." He beamed at me.

"I'm coming too," said Cami. "And since we're exchanging quotes I've got one. 'I in them and you in me.' Kings 4:10."

Gathering into a circle I whispered, " this camaraderie is all well and good guys but we don't know what he knows. Maybe play it cool. Try keep him on our side for now. We need to think clever."

"He's not on our side, Jah," said Cami. "That ship sailed long ago."

We climbed out of the den and back onto solid ground. I was surprised to see Cosmin on his own. I'd have sworn there was another voice and other people shuffling around with him. Then between the trees, off in the distance, I saw two of his moros walking away. I recognised Dale but not the other one, a girl I think.

"You've been deserted," I said.

"I stand alone," said Cosmin. "Always have. I don't need anybody. Running are we? And aided and abetted by these two saps. Very, very interesting."

He was rubbing his stubbly chin as if a great philosophical question troubled him. He bent and picked up a branch that lay at his feet. I noticed he'd shaved off his mustache.

"Now listen, brother," said Dorin. "This need go no further. Just keep it under your hat and we'll all go our separate ways. We're on the same side. The people struggling by. You live in the same tower as us. We have a bond. 'Has my master sent me to speak these words to your master and to you, and not to the people sitting on the wall, who are doomed with you to eat their own dung and drink their own urine?' "

"That won't work on me. You see, I hate you," said Cosmin turning to face Cami. "Who's helping you?

A rebel group?"

"No. Friends. Acquaintances. Allies. Why do you hate us so much? We've done nothing to you." Cami added, "I know your dad hits you and your mum, but that's not our fault. We're sorry for you."

"How the Sheesh do you know that?"

His voice went from zero to murderous anger in one sentence. I was more disheartened than scared. We did, after all, outnumber him three to one, and from personal injuries in my childhood, namely a scar on my neck, my leg and my back, Cami could certainly handle herself. The child inside changed things, though.

"The variety of bruises your mum has most weeks," she said, though I really wished she hadn't.

Even in the failing light I could see his face turn red. He tossed the branch at the tree trunk and dipped his hand inside his jumpsuit. He pulled out an electroprod. and we all took a step back in one synchronized movement.

"Where did you get that?" I said.

"Our friend the Novice. She's very careless with property."

"Be careful, Cosmin," I advised. "Don't do something you'll regret later. It's not worth it. We are not the enemy."

"I disagree," he said and stabbed the prod into Cami's side.

She immediately fell to the ground shaking.

"You think your all so superior to me. I know how they talk about my family. Because we're not the same. Too many nondescript in Celestial Tower. Well we weren't before the Immaculates moved in and pushed us out of west Jericho."

"We don't think that," I said. "And my dad did nothing to your father. He tried to stop him being fired from the army corp."

Cosmin shifted the dial on the prod to full power and moved towards Cami. Fear left my body, and an adrenaline fueled sense of protection filled the space, pushing out any feelings for my own safety. This wasn't bravery, it was something else, something more instinctive, more primal.

"You can't. She's..." I stopped.

I kicked. Again I kicked. I kicked Cosmin's arm holding the prod. I kicked his shin. He barely moved. I kicked his side. Still nothing, so I dived in front of Cami. He came closer, waving the prod out in front. I rushed and swung a punch and connected solidly with his cheek. I heard a crack. My fingers seized up. He grinned and swept his gorilla sized arm across the air and onto the side of the head. I'm certain my brain rattled around in my skull and I went deaf in one ear, and half blind in one eye.

Then I saw Dorin jump up and lock his arm around Cosmin's neck. He seized Cosmin's wrist that held the prod, and they pulled and swayed, and their arms shook with frightening vigor . Cosmin pulled his wrist free and glanced Dorin's side. The prod made contact and it was enough to take Dorin to the ground. I was the last man standing against an enemy stronger than me. If I didn't do something he was going to kill someone. I could see it in his eyes, he had gone some place else, where the moment was all he knew.

A lumbering hulk moved slow so I punched him again in the chest. He stabbed the prod towards the large target of my belly. I lurched to the side and caught him with a knee in the stomach. He folded over and barked. My first success. Cami leaped back to her feet and clamped Cosmin's wrist between both her hands. She gritted her teeth and forced the prod through the open jumpsuit and back into his own body. It slipped under his rib cage, crackled and fizzed, and then released an acrid smell of burning flesh. He jolted upright and convulsed. His eyes widened into little white globes. His mouth fell open and he crashed to the ground like a felled tree with his tongue resting on his cheek. The length of it shocked me, ridiculous I know, and shameful that I cared more about this more than his condition.

Dorin got back up and crouched down over Cosmin, staring into his face. We all looked into the abyss of Cosmin's eyes. I've never seen anything so still. Maybe because a face is in expression all the time when alive, and the eyes could give clues to the maneuvering of the soul. Whatever it was, I knew Cosmin had gone.

"Cosmin," said Dorin as he shook him, quite tentatively as if he were scared about waking him up, and then more forcibly. "Can you hear me? He shook him even more violently, lifting his upper body from the ground and shaking him in mid air. "Can you hear me? Cosmin?"

Cosmin's head fell to the side and he turned the colour of gray, the same gray as the barricade of gloomy skies that hung over New Jerusalem. He was dead.

"I know CPR? " I said. "Seraphim troupe taught it."

"It's too late," said Cami. "He passed before he fell."

"Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," she said patting me on the back.

Seeing him lying there, harmless and still, and noting the emptiness of his bodily frame that once held his life, it struck me. It struck me that I felt no sense of a spirit leaving his body, no ghostly apparition rising upwards, no angles descending to take his soul to everlasting peace. Nothing. Nada. What did strike me the most was the electrical and biological shutdown of the brain. And that was gone now, and when that has gone, we are gone, because we were our brains.

"Do you think he has a soul?" I said.

"I do," said Cami. "I think he lives on."

"Me too," said Dorin. "May be hell, though. The same place we're going."

"Now we've done it," I said. "God rest his soul."

We lowered our heads in respect and clasped our hands together in prayer. We had murdered. The ultimate sin. A few seconds later we burst into animation; we couldn't stay silent for too long.

"What the Jehannama do we do now?" I said.

Cami sniffled, she was crying. I put an arm around her. "It wasn't your fault. Don't blame yourself. Please. You were protecting me just like I was protecting you. It could have easily been the other way around, and I could have finished it."

Her crying grew louder, I'd opened the floodgates. Dorin rolled Cosmin over so he was face down.

"Come on guys," he said. "No time for that. We need to get moving. We need to bury him. Now."

"Where?" I said. "Oh, I know. Down there in the quarry. There's slates to dig with and there's some soft ground on the hanging tree's side."

We rolled Cosmin to the edge of the quarry.

"We need to push him over," said Dorin. "It's the quickest and easiest way to do it."

"It's too disrespectful," I said. Cami's crying started again. "I can't do it."

Cami rested her foot on Cosmin's body and pushed. He rolled over the edge and disappeared. We waited for him to hit the bottom before we looked over the edge. When we did, he lay all twisted out of shape. It looked so tragic. The fear, the adrenalin, whatever you called it managed to block for the moment what was actually happening.

"We're all done for," I said. "Completely done for. As if I didn't have enough to worry about. Now this. We'll be interrogated, tortured, altered, killed. I don't know."

I put my head in my hands.

"Calm down, Jah" shouted Cami. "You're getting hysterical. That won't help. Do you want me to slap you?"

"No. That would not help. OK. I'm fine. Let's do it," I said. "Down we go. To hell. Cuts down on the journey time."

We dug a shallow grave and covered Cosmin with the charcoal like soil. I made a small rudimentary cross with two twigs and stabbed it into the ground where his head would be. We prayed for his soul before scrambling up the valley wall and back onto the path.

"We carry on as normal," said Dorin as we started to walk back home. "Cami runs tomorrow. You, Jah, will act as if nothing has happened. Do not arouse suspicion."

"But when they see he's disappeared," I said. "They'll be swarming all over searching for clues and suspects."

"No-one knows we're here," said Cami. "They can't place us even if they find the body."

"Fingerprints," I said. "DNA. What about these?"

"My Uncle and his friends may move the body and incinerate it," added Dorin. "Before they know any better. We go home and get cleaned up. Stop sweating, Jah. Do not act different to your mum and dad. And keep your eyes peeled for any flying Judases."

Luckily Seraphim troupe was not meeting tonight or they'd link my absence with guilt. We chewed things over in silence. The still night was broken by a dog's bark. A bark too close for comfort. Dog meant owner. And owner meant sightings. Too late. The dog came up behind us, all excited and friendly to see someone. It was Lazarus. He sniffed me, and presumably having recognized my scent, started to scrape his paws up and down my thighs, catching in the fabric and panting for returned attention.

"Sheesh," I said. "Go. Get lost, clear off you dumb mutt."

I picked a stick up and threw it. He looked in the direction the stick flew and then back at me.

"Fetch," I said. "You're not the brightest are you?."

"He only fetches for me," said the Warden.

He sidled up and patted Lazarus on the head. "Lovely night for the Lord."

"Yes," said Dorin. "He is good to us."

"Works in mysterious ways," said Cami.

"He made all before us," I said.

We were talking rubbish now. None of us knew what to say or where to take the conversation.

"What were you doing down in the valley?" said the Warden. "I noticed you coming back up. I thought you were going to Seraphim troupe."

He started to walk to the edge of the valley and as he drew closer with each step, in my mind, I drew closer to the edge of reason. I had a desire to run up behind him and push him over to join Cosmin. And I'd watch him fall, and I'd enjoy it. Enjoy it? What was happening to me? Bring it back, I told myself.

"We were just mucking around Warden," I said. "Thought we saw some young kids not authorized to be out, and as for troupe, that is canceled tonight. I forgot all about that."

What a terrible excuse, I thought. If he buys that then he's stupider than I imagined.

"I'd better take a look," he said. "I am after all a shepherd, an ordained guardian of my young flock."

"No," I snapped. "It was nothing. Rats, I think."

He stopped, looked round. "Rats. Looked like children you said. Just a quick peek, eh, put my mind at rest."

"Weren't you called up to the army with my dad?" I said. "He talks about you and the battle for Argah."

This stopped him. Vanity always worked. He turned towards us.

"That's nice to know," he said. "I think of him a lot, too. We weren't really close, but I always liked him."

"Yea, he said you were very brave and top of the class. Brilliant arm to arm combat expert."

"That's flattering," he said, smiling. "Not exactly true, but nice all the same."

Dorin crouched before the dog as we were speaking and stroked Lazarus on his forehead.

"What a lovely dog," he said. "How old is he?"

"Four," answered the Warden, momentarily forgetting about the valley. And this gave me an idea. I crouched down next to Dorin and took the dog's head in my hands and started to tap on his forehead.

"You'll confuse him," said the Warden. "Be careful, he only knows a few phrases. If he doesn't know what you're wanting it may upset him."

I continued to tap. The dog lolled its head to the side and sent out an ear-piercing yap.

"Sorry, boy," I said. But I didn't stop. I kept going and the dog yelped a few more times. Lazarus looked at the Warden, begged for food and then ran off barking.

"I told you, Jah, that would happen." The Warden was angry now. He looked above our heads and into the distance as the dog disappeared into a clump of trees. "Now I'll have to catch him. He's too confused."

He walked off calling Lazarus with increasing frustration.

"Sorry," I said.

When the Warden was out of earshot Dorin asked, "How did you know about the dog?"

"I met them earlier, thank the Lord. He showed me."

We walked home in separate directions. Dorin said he would ask his Uncle for help. I didn't know if Uncle was a euphemism for some organized group now or there really was one Uncle helping him. I trusted Dorin, nevertheless. Did I trust his Uncle?

* * *

Once home we rushed through prayers in front of the spectrospiel, ate dinner under a cloud of tension, watched news of the holy war and then me and Cami excused ourselves early and sneaked off to our rooms. I was wound so tight, listening under the covers for that heavy rhythmic knock on the door. That's if they even knocked. It was more likely they'd break the door down and swarm the apartment, throwing us to the ground, pinning us down and torturing us even before we knew the question. But I _did_ know the question. Where is Cosmin Bale?

My eyes were as heavy as planets. Fraught emotions and sleep deprivation the likeliest candidates. Cosmin's rigid sad face haunted me when I closed my eyes. He'd got into my mind, broke down the wall at the front of my brain that kept me safe, and then taken up residence in my unconscious. My last defense was reading. Fill my head with words and edge Cosmin into a corner somewhere deep in the dark recesses. Delete the neuron link that held his memory.

So I scanned the Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx. Heavy going but the jist of the book was exciting. Rather than a shift in clerical rule, replacing one holy doctrine with another, like COT, this book wanted the poor, the working class, to rise up and take back the resources stolen from them by the ruling elite, as they saw it. God didn't get a look in. What a mind blowing idea. Was this the answer? Had it been tried before in human history? Did it fail? Did it succeed? Is this how the Djinns live? Honestly, I couldn't really concentrate.

I feel asleep with the device's bright screen beginning to fade. Cosmin came into my room and sat at the foot of my bed. His mustache had made a come back. He put his head in his hands but said nothing. I asked him about life after death. He said nothing, but I could read his face, his expression spoke words. It seemed to say that human relationships, the hearts you live on inside was the answer. Bonds, love, need, hope, these ties would last forever from generation to generation then scattered as molecules into the universe to exist as something else, but alive as anything is. That's what lives on. Atoms and memories. Am I putting words in your mouth, Cosmin? But God, I asked? What about God? He stayed silent. 'I'm sorry,' I said. Truly. I woke early sweating like a fevered child. Was it a dream? Would Cosmin be there today menacing small children at the school gates as usual?

I took the Tablet and started to read about the separation of church and state, but my mind wandered and after half an hour, and in need of a shower to wash away the dirty feeling of guilt, I went to the bathroom. Cami was inside retching. She came out and passed me in the hall rubbing sick from her mouth.

"Before you ask," she said. "I'm fine."

The water from the shower was goose pimply cold and was more like a light, hazy watering than the drenching downpour I needed. I went through my morning routine and kept conversation to a minimum and eye contact to the briefest of meetings. We hardly spoke at school, keeping all conversations to everyday matters. Not a quip came from Dorin's mouth, Cami looked like the walking dead, Anat met my eye on several occasions and I always broke the link. I knew she knew the truth, and she knew I knew that she knew.

As I left school alone, I saw Cami walking up ahead and I ran to catch up.

"Are you going through with it?" I asked.

"Yes, now more than ever. And I'll do all in my power to get the whole family out. I promise."

I felt my eyes water up. Don't cry, you idiot.

"You might hear on the news that I died. You'll know it's not true. That'll put the end to associative guilt." She pulled up to face me. "Be brave. Nothing will beat me. "

"But I'll miss your grumpiness in the mornings and sourness in the afternoons. And what about those easily irked moods at night."

"And I'll miss your muta logic and pretend cowardice. I noticed what you did for me and Dorin. We'll meet again in paradise at the worst. Make this quick. I know we both don't like long goodbyes. You must stay and look after mum and dad. God guide you, bro. You'll storm the Auto. I guarantee it. And then maybe you'll be able to hold two conflicting emotions over the same thing. My brother a man."

We hugged briefly before she walked off. I ran away with tears trickling down my cheeks. I hadn't cried for as long I could remember. 'I'll see you one day,' I said to myself, 'I swear, and in this world. The world we can touch.'

I went to the hanging tree and slid down to the bottom of the quarry. The cross where Cosmin's head would have been had been lifted and tossed into a bush on the slope. The ground had been disturbed and roughly filled back in. His body had definitely gone. Dorin knew some powerful people.


	6. Chapter 6

****Chapter 6****

That night I read again. Thomas Paine and the rights of man. Yet more fascinating theories on existence. They just kept coming. This was about how a ruling elite should serve the people and protect the right's of its citizens, and I noted it never once mentioned parishioners or bishoprics. And when the government does not protect the people it should be overthrown. This was radical stuff and the little bit I did get to read had me clapping and hollering out loud.

"Quiet in there, " my dad said at one point early in the night.

My mind was slowly changing, but now with confidence. A wildfire had been set inside me and this would not be put out by fear. I fell asleep angry and sad and conflicted. In the morning I'd have told Cami I had ambivalent emotions in the night. That was too late now.

My dream that night was vivid and real. Cosmin came again while Cami stood in the doorway. They were in color. She came in, sat down next to Cosmin and put a comforting arm around him. He had bruises on his face and cuts to his neck. He jumped up and opened his mouth wide as if to scream but nothing came out. Jez Dale rushed in with a Blood Monk, who held a diamond encrusted cross, and compelled a demon to leave his body. Jez stopped suddenly and turned to me. He said, 'no, the demon is in you. And you.' He pointed at Cami.

I woke at the other side of the bed with my thin covers on the floor. I'd never felt such relief. This was a dream of terrifying reality. It had smells and touch and a sense that didn't exist in the real world. A supernatural state where the universe fills you with its wisdom, be it frightening or be it wonderful. Just then my bedroom door crashed open. I sat upright. My mum came striding in sweeping her hair back over her head. She stood at the end of my bed, crossed her arms over her stomach as if she were keeping her guts from spilling out and pointed her hip angrily into the room .

"Well," she said.

"Well what?"

"Where's Cami? She's not in her room." Her eyes burned wild.

I beckoned her over to crouch and face me. I pulled her hand under my bed cover and started to touch tap a message on her wrist.

SHE HAS GONE. SHE IS SAFE.

She put her hand on top of mine and thumped her message. It hurt.

WHERE?

I answered slowly.

I DO NOT KNOW DETAILS. SHE IS SAFE.

She quickly touched again, harder and faster.

WHO WITH? WHO HELPED HER?

I couldn't answer this. I couldn't betray Dorin.

SHE NEVER TOLD ME, I tapped.

She withdrew her hand and placed it over her top lip as if she had gotten an army salute all mixed up. Then she lipped, 'I have a friend at the Department of Inquiry in the city. Now tell me or I get them to steal some truth med. I promise you, I will do it.'

My mother's lips moved so fast but I caught most of it. And I believed she would do it. She was a woman who annoyingly kept her word. I looked in her eyes. They swirled with fear and anger, hypnotizing me and drawing out hidden information like hands in a honey jar. What could I do now? I had no option. I mimicked her hand movement and mouthed his name. "Dorin's Uncle."

"Get dressed," she orderd as she stormed out slamming the door.

* * *

I walked into the hall and caught my dad sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. He turned and looked at me. He didn't have to say anything, I understood the agony he felt. It was written all over his face.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he shouted down the hallway, loud enough for every Judas in the block to pick up.

I shrugged, and shrank lower and felt like a little boy who'd been caught hitting his sister.

Then it came, a lot sooner than I thought and a lot lighter too. That paralyzing tap at the door. With it the color drained from the apartment, our faces too, and it felt like being in a black and white photosnap, countless shades of gray defining the world. We were actors in mysterious shadow.

Time slowed too and we moved as if walking underwater. My mum lurched from the kitchen and down the hallway, when she reached me, she cupped my face and kissed me on the forehead.

"It's not your fault," she said.

"Thanks, mum."

A longer, more impatient, rat-tat-tat traveled down the hallway. The only sound in the world. Next, a man's deep voice.

"Open in the name of the Holy Order. We ask only once."

"Who do they want?" I said to my mum, but of course I knew. Denial was protection.

She slowly and sadly shook her head. My dad hobbled towards us and stood at my back, placing his hands on my shoulders. We faced the door and watched my mum turn the handle and swing it wide. On the other side were two parish Wardens, a man and a woman. Dressed in knee length robes and brown jackets with firearms resting on their hips, they looked past my mum and into the apartment. They noticed me and moved into the hallway. My mum, spotting the move, quickly closed the door but the man stuck out his foot and the door bounced back open. The female Warden entered the apartment, wagging her finger at my mum's weak resistance. It felt weird to have a stranger intrude on our private family world.

"What do you want?" my mum said, backed against the wall.

"The boy."

"Why?" asked my dad stepping in front of me.

"That is not your concern. All we know is that his Auto-de-fe has been brought forward. He must go to the Department of Inquiry immediately."

The lady Warden took a baton from her holster.

"You have children, Agatha," said my dad, recognizing her, and appealing to the Warden's maternal nature. "You must understand. We used to babysit your little girl. Remember. Barbara, was it?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "Loyalty is to God and the Holy Order."

From the doorway the man spoke. "We don't have long."

"It's OK, guys," I said . "I'll go. I'm not scared."

"Agatha, have a heart" said my mum. "Is this about Cami?"

"I know very little. I have my orders. Reasons are kept to those who are wiser than us, and for those who want to protect us."

My mum snorted. "No," she said. "You're not taking him."

The man had had enough talking. He marched in and threw his arms around my waist and lifted me from the ground. My dad gripped me from the other side and pulled me back. Agatha raised her baton and cracked it onto my dad's leg. He folded immediately and lay stretched out on the floor, motionless, soaking up the pain and battling with his limitless rage. I understood the intensity of that pain, almost feeling it myself. She'd inadvertently, or so I assumed, caught his bad leg. He now lay in a personal hell.

"Don't," said the man to my mum. "It will end bad for you."

I wriggled in the man's arms. His grip was solid as hell. He walked to the door and dropped me out on the landing. I ran to get back into the apartment but the lady came out and forced the door over. I caught a glimpse of my mum as the door shut and she was sobbing. Her hands were at her face and her body rocked in a deeply disturbing manner. I was more scared now than anything. I barged the man aside and rushed at the door. He drove his elbow into my back and I staggered forward. My head scrapped down the door.

"You come peacefully," said the man, "or your parents shall suffer more than you."

I had to calm down. Not just for me, but for once in my life for others too. They had me. I was finding it hard to catch my breath, so I sucked the air slowly and deeply into my lungs. I looked up and saw Mrs Zedekiah at her apartment door watching the whole thing.

"Enjoying this?" I snapped. "Judas."

She tossed her head back. "Is it the Grand Witness? Wouldn't be surprised for the likes of you."

"Stay there," said Agatha. The Wardens went to talk to her. I waited at the top of the stairwell. On my right was the graffiti sticker of the Atheist Annihilation. How I hated them. I looked back and the Wardens were still talking to Mrs Zedekiah.

"We are done," said the man. "The time has come."

Mrs Zebediah gave me an accusing look before she closed the door as if to say, 'I knew it all along. Malum family, that lot. Deserve the sufferings of Job.'

A moment later, her door opened again and out she hobbled in her slippers holding a garbage bag. A cigarette dangled from the side of her mouth and an overlong ash balanced on the end. How brazen, I thought, in front of the Wardens. She shook her head on the way to the incineration chute mumbling about dirty sinners. When she drew level with us she said, "They never listen and never learn."

"Too true," said the man.

Mrs Zedekiah raised her free hand and blessed me with the sign of the cross. Lowering her hand she brushed against my pocket and then tapped me on the side.

"May the Lord find mercy," she said, and then shuffled away. She scraped her slippers along the concrete floor and I heard her mumble, "No Judases here."

The Wardens started to walk ahead down the stairs.

"Follow us," said Agatha. "And please make it easy on yourself."

When they weren't looking I peeled the Atheist Annihilation sticker from the wall, turned it round and pushed it back against the sticky residue. I longed in my heart that Dorin would get the sign and flee. At the bottom of the stinking stairwell the Wardens flanked me and walked me from the block. A group of children had gathered outside, shuffling, pushing whilst managing to gossip and point accusing fingers at the same time. A few adults stood between them watching with blank eyes. I wriggled free of the Wardens and ran towards the field. I didn't know where I was going, but before I even got from the concrete path a wire lasso wound round my legs and brought me down. The Wardens picked me up, irritated more than angry, and threw me in the back of the transporter. I heard small children laughing. We sped off. My teeth hurt and my face twitched, no ordinary twitch, this was a rabid nervous tic.

* * *

We came to a halt outside St. Michael's railway station. The windows of the transporter had been blacked out. Still, through a crack in the dividing plate that separated the front seats from the back seats I could see through the windscreen the edge of a platform, two Holy Messenger double pennants and a round metal plate on the station wall with St. Michael expelling the devil from heaven. The platform was eerily empty.

The transporter door opened and the female Warden waved me out. We walked into the station and some way up the platform a girl stepped from under the awnings with her parents. They stood very close together like they were merging into one beast. They looked scared. I recognized the girl from senior school. She pulled her head back and forced a sad smile. I did the same before turning back and staring at the train track.

"What are they going to do to me?" I asked.

"If you are one with the Lord, then ye shall not suffer," said the man.

"Will they harm my mother or father?"

"If they are one with the Lord, then they shall not suffer," said the man again, unhelpfully.

"Prayer, brother," said the lady. "They shall be answered."

Apart from the cruel hack at my father's leg, the lady seemed to have a heart and her sympathy was palpable, though her advice useless. Man will do unto man. Was that it?

A distant rumble came down the track heralding the approach of the _the Night Star_. I saw its red round nose appear moments after the rumble. _The Night Star_ itself had an electric hush, it was the track that made the noise. It braked with a whistle and a shuddering screech. The windows were barred and blacked out. No voices came from inside. The many doors that lined the train whooshed open all at once. I looked up at Agatha.

"On you go," she said. "Our job is finished here."

This could be my last chance and it crossed my mind to make a break for it. I looked up the platform and noticed the girl already on board. Agatha shook her head. With tentative baby steps I climbed onto the train. The door swooshed closed behind me. I tensed with fright.

The carriage had been divided into compartments. I walked up the aisle and opened the door to the first compartment I came to. Six children, teenagers, sat inside, clothed in out-of-school gray jumpsuits, a strained ambiance pushed at the walls and windows like the churn of a nervous refrigerator, their silence spoke volumes. I tried the next one, but that was full too. The third one had only two kids inside. I decided to use this one. When I sat down I felt slightly awkward. I had to speak.

"Are you going to the Department of Inquiry as well?"

"Everyone on this train is going," said the pretty girl sitting across from me.

"I'm Ben and this is Becky," said the boy at my side.

"Jah," I said. "That's my name, I'm not agreeing."

They smiled politely.

"Is it possible to get off the train?" I said, not holding out much hope. "I think I'm in big trouble."

"Ssh," said Becky. She shot a glance to a Judas above the compartment door, and then shook her head in reply. "If you believe in the Holy Messenger and follow his teachings given to him by God then I'm told you'll be fine. We do." More brain-washed gook.

"Yea," I sad. "Me too. Just a bit worried about the conclusion the Witnesses have come to."

"Ssh," said Becky, looking up at the door again.

I decided to shut up. Stay silent, I concluded, and appear unholy rather than speaking up and removing all doubt. The daily news crackled over a speaker. We were encouraged to prayer for David's Mighty Warriors and the souls of the pagans. Production statistics and work rates were read out in a low boring tones almost sending me to sleep. Then some scripture was rattled off, and a section from the Holy Messenger's book. 'God is on our side,' it said. My head eventually lolled onto my shoulder and my eyes closed over while I thought about god taking sides.

The train barreled on, and after an hour we started to slow. I felt a push in my arm.

"We're here," said Becky.

It was so cold on the train I put my hands in my pockets and curled into the window. The train came to a stop amid much excited chatter from everyone on board. Outside I could hear the bustle and noise of a working city center, a commotion that transmitted directly into my churning stomach. My head lightened and I had the sense I might faint. Then I felt something in my pocket like a folded piece of paper. Mrs Zedekiah's brief encounter with my pocket flashed across my memory. I decided not to look at it now. I prayed for an opportunity before the test.

"We've to get off," said Ben.

Thank goodness he spoke because it dragged me back to reality and the task in hand. We left the compartment and pushed and squeezed our way up the body cramped aisle. The doors were open and we flooded the platform. I'd already lost my acquaintances and stood among a group of trembling school kids. Lining the platform of Gabriel Station were a tight line of guards. Wardens stepped between them and shepherded all the children from the station and into waiting people carriers. I shared mine with a small skinny boy who looked about ten. His nerves infected me and made me feel sick. A Warden sat up front with the driver.

"Salve," I said. "You'll be all right."

"Thanks, you too."

I had to assume the carriers were camera free because I dipped into my pocket and craftily removed the note, keeping it palm down and sliding it between my legs. I turned to my companion and put a finger to my lips and he nodded his understanding. I looked up front and then unfolded the note while keeping it as low down my legs as I could. It was from Dorin and it read, 'How to beat a Witness Inquisitor lie detector.'

I skimmed it quickly digesting all the information I possibly could in the amount of time I had. At the end it was signed D with a little footnote saying, 'Who are you to judge your neighbor, Mrs Z.'

I crumpled the note into a tight ball and put it in my mouth and sat back while it dissolved.

I gulped down the final residue of soggy paper as we stopped in front of the Department of Inquiry. A gray bricked multistory monstrosity that rose way above all the other buildings in the center of New Jericho, and loomed like a malevolent giant over the scared midgets who entered.

The motto above the door read in Latin, 'Teach me your way, O LORD, that I may walk in your truth; unite my heart to fear your name.'

That didn't help my fragile state of being in any way whatsoever.

"Schnel, come on," said a Warden, "everyone inside. We don't have all day."

The little skinny boy was still beside me. "Glik," I said.

"Ta, you too. Good luck." His accent was from West Jericho.

We filed into the building and queued at a chest high desk behind which sat two administrators on tall stools. They were both taking details from the children.

"Move it along," cried one of the Wardens who was tidying up the cue by pushing and pulling at the kids. "Once you have your number don't hang about."

A boy shoved me in the back. "It was him," he said pointing behind himself.

The queue started to shrink as the children, one by one, dispersed throughout the building. Some took the zigzagging staircase while most waited for one of the ten elevators at the other side of the foyer. I watched as the skinny boy was swallowed up by one of these elevators and carried heavenwards. I felt nervous for him, but I really think I was nervous for myself.

"Name?" said a lady administrator.

"Jah Frum."

"Age and address?"

"15. Obviously. 17E , Celestial Towers, SoJo. Sorry, New South East Jericho."

She punched my answers onto a computer keyboard while I studied her smooth face. I took her perfume in and held it in my lungs and it felt comforting, reminding me of my mother on the few occasions she managed to barter some perfume on the black market. She looked up and I breathed out. Her eyes studied my face as if she were searching for an answer the computer did not have.

"Look into this iris detector."

She held up a flat electronic device that flashed in my eyes.

"And the brain scanner."

She put a round helmet made of movable material on my head and pushed it down. It morphed to the shape of my skull and squeezed tight. She peeled it off and said. "Fine. Room 536. God guide you."

I felt my head as she handed me a slip of paper with the number 548473 printed in bold type. I walked through the foyer , under a cross and a flag and waited for an elevator to come back down. When one finally came I stepped inside alone, the crowd of children having thinned now to a few stragglers. I hit the button for floor 5 and the elevator shot up at a nauseating speed. My stomach felt like it had got left behind on the ground the floor. Seconds later the elevator jolted to a stop, the doors opened with what I can only describe as a rude 'get out', and I did, and quickly in case it took me away again.

I turned left out of the elevator and onto an empty corridor lined with white doors and checked off the room numbers as I went along. Room 536 _would_ be at the end, wouldn't it? Writing on the door read, Parish Witness Inquisitor, No.9.

What was about to happen hit me like a thunderbolt. I wanted to run and run and never stop until I was miles away, out in the country, in a barn sleeping among the hay, eating eggs and drinking creamy milk. Then on another day to another village or farm where I survived on my wits and the goodwill of those who understood my plight. I'd find Cami and together we'd take our parents from the city to a safe place and live off the land, raising animals and growing our own food. We'd live in harmony with the seasons and the weather and grow up in peace and happiness. This all flashed across my mind in a matter of seconds.

But there was no point in running. I'd be caught soon as I left the building. If I got that far. And then who knows what they'd do, having damned myself with the actions of a guilty conscience. In staying I might wing it. That was my only hope, that I might somehow bluff my way through this. I tapped on the door and twisted the handle, the words on Dorin's note lodged in my memory.

"Come in. Don't be afraid. Faithfully follow me as David your father did, obeying all my commands."


	7. Chapter 7

****Chapter 7****

My shuffling, doubtful steps took me into room 536 and I stood just inside the door looking around.

The bright yellow light made it difficult to see. Squinting, I saw a bulky man in a black suit, black shirt and black tie sitting hunched over a desk scribbling on a pad. A computer and a cube shaped electronic monitor, the likes of which I'd only seen in a hospital before, sat on his desk. A large monitor screen covered the wall to my left, and in the middle of the floor a leather chair, a type I'd seen on the spectrospiel for live Inquisitions, was placed ominously as if it were the star of the show. Wires and straps hung down from the arms and various electronic monitoring on stands stood around. The door clicked over behind me.

Was I scared? Strangely, no. And I couldn't explain why. Relief, maybe, that the wait and the guilt I had carried were finally over. I breathed in filling my lungs, held it down, and then expelled the air in one short burst. I didn't believe in God and I'd help cover up a terrible crime. The future did not look good for someone like me.

"Take a seat," the man said.

I took a seat at the desk and waited obediently for further instructions. He continued to scribble in his pad. My eyes were growing used to the bare light now. I blinked several times, sat back and tapped my foot over and over on the floor.

"You know nothing about the stars," he said with a NoJo drawl, all rounded vowels, an accent cultivated by those born into large gardened homes in the well-kept parishes of North New Jericho and not the dirty, cramped high-rises of the disinherited in the south of the city. I immediately took a dislike to him. I shrugged.

"Assuming God can make us feel the presence of a non-existent entity, and assuming he need not go to this trouble if the same effect can be produced in us by the actual presence of that entity, God could still if he wished cause us to believe in the existence of stars without their being actually present." He took a deep breath. "What is the answer to this?"

I shrugged again.

"Do you think we are stupid, Jah?" he asked suddenly. "Jah Frum. You're Jah Frum?"

"No, Witness," I said. "I mean no, I don't think you're stupid but yes, I am Jah Frum."

"Are you stupid?" he asked.

"Don't think so, Witness."

"Call me Thomas," he said, then coughed sharply. "Do you believe the Holy Order is here for your safe

passage to everlasting life?"

He looked up and stared straight into my eyes. They pierced deep inside my head as if clammy hands had reached into my brain to pull out my thoughts and I felt a shivery sense of intrusion. I unlocked eye contact and re-focused my gaze on his pad trying to calm myself before I answered. My foot tapped faster.

"I do," I said, my voice wobbling.

"Do you believe in Hell?"

"I do."

"Then why do our people continue to sin?" he asked, getting up and coming round from behind the desk. He stood behind me with a heavy presence that made me more nervous.

"They are weak," I said, hoping this was what he wanted to hear. "They have free will and need guidance."

"Yes, very good," he said, laughing. "Weak, indeed. Guidance, good."

He moved away from behind me and took his intimidating presence with him. His shoes clicked on the tiled floor as he walked. The clicks fell silent.

"People will sin," he said. "The Holy Order understand human frailty. That is a given. Penance and retribution can deal with that. But when the Order we have built over many years is under threat, then that is a whole different state of affairs. Do you agree, Jah?"

He was at my ear, I hadn't heard him move. His breath heated my neck with a watery stickiness which made me instinctively recoil.

"I agree," I said, with Dorin's sermons ringing in my head.

He sat back down in his chair and leafed through his notepad. He had a square face and a flat nose that looked like it had been broken several times and left him looking like he'd walked into a wall. His ears stuck out too far from a shrubbery of blond hair. But his eyes struck me the most. They glared a deep hypnotic blue like a clear watery inlet you could swim in, and having already encountered their power I thought it wise to avoid them, so scared I was that they may dig out some distasteful truths.

"Do you know a..." he went to the back of his pad, "a Cosmin Bale?"

"I know of him," I said, my gut tightening. "He's in some of my classes."

"You talked to him at recess on Tuesday the 34th. He said on that day,'..."

I stopped listening and started to think back on what I had said and how incriminating it had been.

"...and you received a note on that day." He stopped and looked up. "A note you destroyed and

replaced with another. You don't need to agree. We know."

"Do you think," he continued, "we can't read lips or a simple tapping code. The Witnesses watch, then they analyze. Analyze your behavior. Your moves, your body language. That's what they do. It amazes me the arrogance of the people. We have the technology to see through objects you know, like a hand above a lip for example. We can even see into your head."

My face was ticking madly, almost tipping over into a full blown seizure.

"What do you call it," he said. "The Hang Tree?"

"The Hanging Tree," I helped, feeling no point in hiding this. "But we are allowed in the woods before curfew."

"Yes, you are. We like the falsehood of safe places. You talk freely and we can listen. What you do in the woods is of interest to us. And I hear you found something interesting there. Some good bedtime reading I'm led to believe. You have anything to say?"

I shook my head. He went into a draw and pulled out the Tablet. He pushed it across the table. It stopped in front of me like an accusing eye.

"Where's your sister, Cami ?"

I breathed again, at last something I genuinely didn't know and relieved that he didn't seem to either, or why would he be asking. And why is he asking if he knows what he says he knows? To catch me out?

"I don't know, sir. I swear. Sorry, Thomas." A doubter well named, I thought.

"You swear, fascinating. Well we know where she is and we know who is helping her. And your friend Dorin ? Well he is quite a character. Isn't he?"

My whole body sank down as if gravity was becoming more powerful and squeezing me lower into the center of the earth. I felt empty and sick and tired. I wanted to sleep and wake up in a parallel universe where the world had taken a different path. I felt cornered and afraid as if a rapid pack of canids had me surrounded and they hadn't eaten for weeks.

"Your father is good with technology, yes? Has quite the little workshop. And your mum. Does she not pass information from the High Temple to our enemy? Cleansing of the Temple Liberation Army, I think they call themselves."

What? My mum? My dad?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, getting angry.

"I believe you," he said. "We will not harm them. They can be given false information. Very useful you see to keep the Messenger safe."

Anger emboldening me I blurted, "Do you have Cami?"

He got back up and walked to the leather chair in the middle of the room. He turned and said, "it was your Auto-de-fe tomorrow, I believe. Shall we see what a young devout parishioner is willing to do for his God?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, Jah. You do not have a choice. Come over here and take your position in the chair, thank you. If you are good and righteous you have nothing to fear. Truth is light and light is everlasting. _That_ is a revolutionary act."

My wobbly legs just about managed to transport me to the chair. I hated how my body betrayed me. I noticed fluff littering the seat from those who'd been here before and a stain. Blood. I settled onto the sticky leather. I rested back until I found the angle of the headrest. Thomas leaned down and placed my feet on two footrests.

"This is your judgment day, Jah," he said, as he started to attach wired pads to the sides to my

temples.

He did the same with the back of my hands. He fastened leather straps across my wrists, around my neck and over my ankles. He pulled tight on each strap in turn until the skin reddened and was squeezed up and under the straps. To find comfort I wriggled my head and the strap slipped down my neck. I caught a few sharp breaths and my heart rate slowed to only a chest busting level.

Thomas dimmed the lights and the large screen on the wall woke up. Graphs and lines and flashing lights were reflected from the screen around all the walls in the room. A waving pulse went across the length and center of the screen. On the control panel next to me Thomas swept his hand over sensors, and wrote instructions in the air just above the panel. The pulse line on the screen slowed down and the peaks grew shallower until it caught the rhythm of my heartbeat and settled on a steady rate. There was a second pulse with the letters next to it. Brain activity, I guessed.

"Have you ever lied to your parents?" he said.

I bit down hard on my tongue and then answered. "No, I have not."

Biting hard again, and to avoid a giveaway mumble, I released my sharp incisors a fraction before I said , "I honor my mother and my father."

He turned a knob and the pulse on the screen shot up, wiggled and fell back down. I'd followed the note's instructions to the letter and it seemed to be working so far.

"Have you ever cheated on a test?"

I bit again and this time dug my nails into the palms of my hands to add a little extra confusion into the results. "No, I have not."

"Have you ever taken the Lord's name in vain?"

Same procedure before I answered, "No." The graph pulsed crazily.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen," I said.

The pulse held steady. "And are you a member of the Seraphim troupe of South East Jericho?"

"I am."

"Excellent," he said. "A model student."

Retrieving his chair from behind the desk he scraped it across the polished floor, emitting the sharpest screech that sent a chill down my spine like a fork across a china plate. I contorted lower into the leather as he sat down in front of me and studied my face.

"Do you believe the Holy Messenger follows God's will on earth. Nay, is God's conduit on earth and through him alone we know the truth and the light.? And through him alone we gain everlasting peace?"

When I was young my father would take me walking along the Valley of Ejah where we picked mushrooms and herbs that grew on the embankment. We searched for anything that might add flavor to a bland diet. There was wild garlic, lime fronds, onion leaves. We walked for hours and sometimes, forgetting the time, when dusk came in, a dusk that enveloped us like a soft blanket. We laughed freely, but still took our task seriously. An unbreakable bond was formed in those days, and I pictured these happy times before I lied, "I do."

"Interesting," said Thomas rubbing his chin.

The line on the screen had immediately shot up but under half the height of the previous peaks. It was working, and surely Thomas must have been thinking I had a strong physical reaction to lying. And now my important lie doesn't look like a lie at all. I thanked Dorin and Mrs Zed.

"That may be your conscious belief, Jah," he said. "But what lurks in the back of your mind. Your subconscious? Does that tell a different truth. Is your personal subconscious stronger than the collective subconscious. Your unconscious accepts everything as the truth. It cannot lie, it sees in pictures and patterns. It is orderly and and controls 97% of your behavior and more importantly for us, your perceptions. Shall we see what we can unearth."

This wasn't part of the plan. I panicked. The beep from the rhythm on the screen sped up. He stood and went to his desk. From a drawer he pulled out a claw like instrument, shiny metallic in its horror, which held terrifying medical implications inside my overactive imagination. He sat back down while my mind invented all kinds of torturous agonies.

The beep hurtled along. He connected one end of the claw to the monitor and expanding its four fingers clamped the other end to the top of my head. It bit straight through my hair and into the skin of my scalp. An instant pain went shooting into the core of my brain. After a few moments it settled to a dull agony. I looked up and through my barred teeth I saw another pulse on the screen below the first two pulses.

"You see, we have a system of neural monitoring. This will all be wiped so there is no point in trying to remember it. Anyway, have you heard of biotelepathy?"

I shook my head.

"We digitally decode the electromagnetic emissions from your cerebrum. We send electrical signals to the audio cortex of the brain bypassing the ear and then map the cerebrum's activity for the visual center of the brain by avoiding the eyes and optic nerves in a similar way. This means we can transmit your mind onto a spectrospiel monitor, both visual and audio memory. But the technology is in its infancy."

He stopped and drew a deep breath. He needed to the way he was rushing his sentences. He gave the impression common breathing was only getting in the way of talking.

"But the most exciting part, with the help of the deep probe, is, we can decode the electromagnetic activity of the subconscious already and transpose this into a synthetic voice which answers our questions faithfully over a simple radio monitor. There is nowhere to hide. All your memories can be accessed if we wanted. But your criminal activity or intentions is not of importance to us at present. This is about your beliefs. This is the Department of Inquiry, not the Department of Morals."

What new terror had unfolded. I had that nauseous sinking feeling of the game being well and truly up. A feeling that comes with being caught in the act. Caught red-handed. Do you still lie when the truth is plain to see. Is it even possible when something can read your deepest thoughts. I hardly knew myself what lurked in hidden recesses.

My non-belief in God, for sure. In the system, check. In the Messenger, absolutely. But all the other stuff that sat untapped would be news to me, my secret desires, my wants and wishes. These could be just as incriminating as my non-belief in a God. He said crimes were not being searched for but what if Cosmin comes out of my brain unwanted. What then?.

"I repeat, do you believe the Holy Messenger follows God's direct word on earth and is immortal until called upon by the Lord to take his seat in heaven?"

"I do," I said.

The top pulse shot up, my place of relaxation in the valley of Ejah impotent now. He hovered his index finger over the control stand and tutted. After a few seconds he repeated the question.

I answered, "I do," and at the same time a morphed voice damningly pronounced over my own, "No, I do not," and the bottom pulse stayed steady. The pulse I guessed was my subconscious, and the one that cannot lie. It flickered occasionally like it had a fault.

"Your mind is strong. Hard to to get into. But we have and how did you fall through the cracks, young man? How did the message not get into your head. We start young and we have great success. Then there's the few like yourself. It's such a shame. It really is."

I sensed he was faking concern and I felt like I could see into _his_ brain and read _his_ thoughts _._ What did he have to hide? Was his purity unquestioned? How loyal was he?

"Do you know where your sister Cami is hiding?"

"I do not," I said clearly. "I thought _you_ did." The synthetic voice echoed my answer. The truth made Thomas smile, but a twisted smile, not one set in real joy.

"Where is Cosmin Bale?"

"I don't know, honestly, I don't." The top pulse wavered but that was all. The voice, my accusing subconscious, also said it didn't know. Thank Baalim I checked Cosmin had been taken elsewhere.

"You know the story in the old testament about Abraham and his son Isaac?"

"Yes," I said. "To the point of brain freeze."

"We feeling braver now, Jah. You have spirit."

"Where's my sister? What will happen to my parents?"

"Enough now," he snapped. "We have other business to attend to."

"That is my business. The only business I'm concerned with. Let me out. Let me out. I've had enough, please."

I bucked my body and kicked against the ankle straps. They held tight. I raged inside. I twisted and bounced like a restrained lunatic, again and again. The straps cut deeper and burst my skin, blood trickled from my wrist onto the arm of the chair. I folded my fingers inward and tried to pull them through the unforgiving strap.

"I want out," I screamed. "I want out."

Thomas jumped to his feet and pushed a button on the panel. The clamp gripped tighter on the top of my head. He pushed again and deeper it tore.

"Calm down," he said, "or we get the electroprod."

"Ahh," I cried. "Sorry, stop it. Stop it now."

"Look up."

The strange request snapped me back to the present and made me curious. I looked up and above the pulse lines there was an image. Murky and then it came into focus. My father, and me, walking in the woods, laughing and pushing each other in play.

"You almost had us, young man. There is still time to redeem yourself."

He pushed the button again and the clamp loosened. I breathed out and slunk lower in the chair. The pain subsided. I breathed deeply.

"Now your little outburst is over, I'll continue," he said, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the blood from the arm of the chair. "It is taught that Abraham was willing to kill his son for the Lord. The ultimate act of love. Because you well know, as did Abraham, that Isaac would be welcomed into God's bosom. He was merely leaving this intermediary life for an eternal life prepared for on this earth . It was a transition, not a death. You see?"

"I see," I said.

The pulse flickered to announce my lie, a lie I was quite unaware of. I hardly knew what I believed anymore.

"No," said my morphed vocal betrayer.

"We don't need this for now," said Thomas unclasping the claw and sitting down on a trolley bristling with surgical equipment. "What would you do in the name of God? Would you balk at sending someone to heaven?"

"I don't know," I said watching the screen. At last a truth, I didn't know until faced with it and the stable pulse agreed.

"Well, shall we find out?"

He sent the chair gliding across the floor with the back of his knees as he stood up. The screech made no impact on my numbed pain receptors. My level of irritation had been filled to the brim. I felt strong and was flowing with the idea I could absorb anything they threw at me. I switched my thoughts to my family knowing full well this would make me furious and ready for a fight. My secret strength.

"We have a simple choice," he said slowly and monotonously as if he were addressing a simple child.

"Do you love and believe in the Lord's goodness or are you one with the devil who blocks the righteous path to heaven?"

I didn't feel there was any point in answering, what will be will be, I thought. Bring it on.

"I'm ready," I said.

He pulled the wires from my head and hands and unstrapped me. I rubbed vigorously at my wrists and ankles to get the blood flowing again. The blood from the cut had coagulated. Thomas was standing at the desk looking at me. The electroprod sat in plain view as a warning, I guess, to my changeable behavior. Next to this was a unit with two buttons, one red and one green.

"Come sit down at the desk, Jah," he said softly.

I sat down at a slouched angle I thought conveyed rebelliousness.

"Simple choice to show your devotion and teaching. The right choice may just save your skin. Here we have two buttons. You press the red one and no-one will be harmed. However, press the green one and someone, somewhere, that you don't know will die and join those believers at God's side. They will not suffer, or feel any pain. They will be disposed of quickly and efficiently. Upon death they will walk straight into the arms of God, love and peace and everlasting life."

He sat on the desk with his legs dangling down in a comical way like a small child whose feet cannot reach the ground. "They are mostly orphans, mentally handicapped or physically handicapped, with no family or prospects of happiness here on earth. So, what are you going to do?"

"I press green and I get out of here?" I said.

"Yes."

"And I don't know these people or have ever met someone connected with them?"

"Correct."

"And it just happens? I don't see it or hear it?"

"Correct again. And they will automatically enter the gates of heaven. They don't die, they live forever."

"And me, will I be punished?"

"No, you are showing your devotion and love for God. This shall override your truth results. Some reprogramming and biotelepathy may be necessary, but nothing to be afraid of."

I lifted my shaking hand and hovered it over the buttons.

"Do what your heart tells you," he said.

That's what they always say, isn't it? Do what your heart tells you. Then the devil in my head spoke to me and urged me to do what's best for myself. Didn't I want to be released? Why worry when the consequences from your decision are unseen and to your advantage. The angel then spoke up and told me the consequences are indeed unseen to me but others may shoulder horrible effects. Not seeing something doesn't mean it didn't happen. Belief is blind after all. But then I don't believe in something I can't see. In the end, it looked simple.

I asked myself would the victim enter heaven? What if I was right and everybody else wrong and there is no such place. I've ended someone's only chance at one and only shot. Even if it is a miserable life, at least it's a life, and then they have the option of changing their own story.

"Well, Jah Frum," he said. "What's your decision?"

The angel had won. Or was it my heart? Nevertheless, I slammed my palm onto the red button. I was expecting an alarm to ring out or guards to rush in and sweep me off to be crucified. But the room stood still, suspended in time, frozen in consequence. What seemed like ages passed before the Witness started to smile. He slapped the desk and I jumped in my chair.

"Well done, Jah," he said. "Good job."

"What do you mean?" I said. "Haven't I done the wrong thing?"

"No," he said, pushing himself from the desk and slapping me on the back like an old friend. "Not at all. Go and collect your results from Room 535."

"I don't understand," I said.

"My work is done. You will."

As I was leaving the room he said, "If god had annihilated the stars, he could still cause in us the act of seeing what once had been, just as he could give us a vision of what will be in the future. Either act will be an immediate apprehension. That is the answer. God can put it there."

Confused I went to room 535. Two kids were waiting on chairs pushed against the side. A powdered faced lady with a black bob cut sat gloomily staring out of a round hole in the wall.

Before I had a chance to take a seat she announced, "Jah Frum. Next."

I looked at the two kids waiting, their eyes were on the floor, and as I walked up to the lady, my footsteps rang out like explosions. Her fingers moved rapidly over a computer screen. A slip of paper came out from a slot in the wall. She nodded towards it. I took it and read.

"Congratulations, you have passed your assessment. Please go to the Room 534. If you try to escape before the neural memory wipe you be killed upon detection. Put this note in the incineration chute."

I opened the chute door and threw the slip of paper into the heat. I smiled unconvincingly on my way out. In the next room a man grabbed me from behind as a woman in a white lab coat approached me holding a hypodermic needle. I twisted my head to the side as she plunged the needle into


End file.
